


i got all my stars aligned

by khakis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Frottage, Genderswap, Hand Jobs, Loss of Parent(s), Mentions of Cancer, Multi, girl!Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khakis/pseuds/khakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' life is going swimmingly: he's landed his dream job on an archaeological dig in Luxor, and his best friend Harry is at his side filming the whole thing. He's on top of his game, in charge of the college kids working on site for the summer, and he's not going to let his pesky crush on his boss or the inscrutable Liam Payne get in his way.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Look,” Louis says, and Liam follows his pointing finger up through the opening above them, leading to the inky swath of the sky.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Oh,” Liam breathes. “Shit.”</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>The stars are bright, the dark around them undiluted along the banks of the river. It’s startling, every time Louis sees it: the clarity of the stars, the quiet focus of their light. “You know that the Ancient Egyptians mapped most of these constellations?” Louis asks, his voice quiet in the heavy, chilly air of the night.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	i got all my stars aligned

**Author's Note:**

> please read warnings in the tags!
> 
> written for the [1d big bang](http://1d-bigbang.livejournal.com/)! (happy birthday, saskia)
> 
> i owe thanks to so many people. most notably: Any, Maika, Em and Alora, plus Mel and Moosk for cheering me on.
> 
> the Tomb of Sennefer is a real place, though i've taken liberties with the details. 
> 
> check out the [lovely, lovely artwork](http://triharrytops.tumblr.com/post/75061094162/artwork-by-the-lovely-liloson-title-i-got-all) by [liloson](http://liloson.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> title from all my stars aligned by st. vincent. say hi on [tumblr](http://triharrytops.tumblr.com/)!

-  


It’s only 8:13 am, but the sun is already high and blindingly hot over the Tombs of the Nobles. Louis is nervous.

He has a few hours still until the three college kids who were accepted into the program for the summer are due to arrive at the site, but part of him wishes they’d just show up already so he can stop worrying. It’s making his stomach feel funny, and the cuticles around his thumbs can’t take much more of his anxious gnawing.

It’s not that he feels inadequate; he knows that he deserves to be here, that he can be a leader for them, but the downside of his having acquired this job at such a young age means that he’ll be barely older than some of them. He’s just really, terribly hoping for their respect. It’s a weird sort of workplace, the dig; he’s coworkers with everyone, but he’s also technically a boss to most of them, and he’s their friend all at the same time. It’s complicated, and the nights when they go out drinking in Luxor together like a crew of college friends rather than people who live and work together daily don’t help to make the lines any clearer. 

He’s nervous to see where these new kids fit in. Mostly, he knows he can come on a little strong when he’s insecure, and the last thing he wants to do is jeopardize their learning environment and his own job by being too brash.

Greg is eating breakfast in the main tent - Greg, aka Professor James, whom Louis will probably never get over being allowed to call by his first name - and when he sees Louis, he grins eagerly around a mouthful of mashed fava beans and pita, a meal he practically lives on at the dig. Louis usually has to choke it down politely; he similarly has to choke down the overwhelming smile that he feels coming on as Greg grins at him, mentally rolling his eyes at himself as he does so. He’s too _old_ for feelings like this, _especially_ when they’re dumb feelings for his boss.

“Hey,” he croaks out, making his way across the food tent, eager for the promise of tea to help settle his nerves.

“Morning, Louis. Kids are coming at noon, yeah?” Greg asks as Louis sits down next to him. Louis helps himself to a plate of bread and tomatoes and the cheese that he thinks he’ll miss more than anything when he’s back home, wriggling to get comfortable on the wooden bench. 

“Assuming they’ve landed on time, and that Harry doesn’t crash the van,” Louis confirms, squaring his shoulders under Greg’s laugh. Greg is one of the smartest, kindest people that Louis knows, and the fact that Greg chose _him_ to be his assistant director on site, fresh out of school and relatively inexperienced in comparison to most of Greg’s colleagues, still makes Louis giddy with responsibility and pride. 

It’s a bit of an inconvenience, really, this annoying little crush Louis can’t seem to shake, but he’s quite good at determinedly not thinking about it. Even if it does make his heart do a Shawn Johnson worthy gymnastic routine when he makes Greg laugh.

“I have more faith in the plane than I do in Harry,” Greg says, “despite his dimples.” He chuckles and wipes a large hand against the back of his mouth as he stands up. Greg is a big guy anywhere, but here in the tent, and in the temples and next to the artifacts and with dig tools in his hands, he looks gigantic, like an adult in a dollhouse. Louis sometimes feels like a child next to him, but it’s sort of comforting, in a way. “Are you staying up in the courtyard today?” 

Louis nods. He likes working out in the open more, anyway. 

The tomb of Sennefer, the one where he and Greg are currently presiding over the excavation, is one of many tucked against the West Bank just outside of Luxor. Louis’ biased, but it’s his favorite of the tombs - the elaborate paintings of grapes on the walls, the way sunlight filters through the open courtyard and into the bright interior of the tomb entrance like it’s trying to help uncover the centuries-old mysteries that are hidden beneath the dirt. Louis knows that what’s _inside_ the tomb is just as important, but something about being that far underground makes him anxious after a while. Plus, he wants to be up when everyone arrives.

“Well, I’m going down, back into the chamber where you found the canopic jars. Hoping to uncover something equally as exciting to show the new kids.”

“You do realize they’re probably only a few years younger than me, don’t you?” Louis asks, grinning at Greg at the implied compliment even as he’s asking. (Honestly, he finds himself smiling at Greg most of the time, but right now he’s mostly grinning at the subtle ways that Greg finds to make Louis feel great about his work on the dig. The uncovery of those canopic jars had been somewhat of a triumph, and he loves that Greg recognizes it that way, too).

Greg laughs. It’s a nice sound. “Yeah, but you’re practically a kid, too. At least next to me you are.”

Louis ignores his brain whining about Greg considering him a kid, squares his shoulders. “A kid you trust and respect _very_ much, I presume?” Louis jibes, sticking out his chest importantly as he grabs one last piece of pita and swigs the last of his tea as he stands. 

“Sure,” Greg says agreeably, but he winks and leads the way out into the shimmering heat. 

-

When Louis was in the second grade, his teacher, Mrs. Bartley, had taken a special interest in him. Most of his teachers had done something similar up until that point, but theirs had usually been an interest along the lines of trying to keep Louis from distracting the entire class by standing up in his chair in the lunch room and loudly announcing the latest joke he’d made up. 

Mrs. Bartley, on the other hand, innately knew how to best channel Louis’ hectic and bright kind of energy with fun experiments and engrossing stories and all kinds of physical play that Louis adored. She taught him how to do intricate cat’s cradle tricks and how to ride a unicycle on the blacktop at recess, and made him feel like school was somewhere he truly wanted to be. His mom had cried after the first parent teacher conference that year, cried and kissed Louis on the crown of his head and took him for ice cream without his sisters.

And then, for his birthday, Mrs. Bartley had given him one of her favorite books, The Egypt Game. Eight-year-old Louis knew love for the first time.

His fascination with ancient Egypt had morphed over time, but where other phases had come and gone - The Power Rangers, swimming, kissing girls - the only things that stuck with him as strongly as Egypt were Yorkshire tea and Harry Styles. 

He devoured both fiction and nonfiction about the ancient culture, took as many history courses related to the country as his high school offered, and then when he was accepted - which he still can’t quite believe - to Brown, he’d suddenly been faced with the opportunity to study in a real and renowned Egyptology program. Both his mom and Harry had pushed him to do it, and that was really all Louis had ever needed.

Harry was another constant in Louis’ life, one that had been there even longer than Egypt. They’d met at swimming lessons when Harry was four and Louis six, because Harry was preternaturally good for his age and had been moved by their swim instructor from the Guppies to the Otters. 

Louis’d been rather offended, really, that he was swimming with a _four_ -year-old, but something must’ve clicked because 18 years later, they’re still conjoined at the hip. (It didn’t hurt that Harry always, _always_ laughed at Louis’ jokes, no matter how goofy or nonsensical).

There aren’t many memories of Louis’ that don’t have a Harry somewhere in them - Harry awed after Louis lost his first tooth, the two of them learning to ski together, Louis carrying a wet-lashed Harry five blocks home on his back after Harry had fallen off of the monkey bars and sprained his wrist on the day before his ninth birthday. Harry didn’t quite _get_ the Egypt thing, but if it was something Louis loved, Harry was on board. (The same was true vice versa, though Louis’d be hard pressed to admit it when it came to both drinking coffee and the Packers).

Harry had gone to RISD for film, and, by some universal twist that seemed perpetually bound and determined to keep them together, he’d gotten a massive grant to take a year off before graduation to accompany Louis and make a documentary about the Sennefer dig. 

The day Louis got the job, standing in a sunlit corner of Greg’s office and being handed pretty much his single biggest dream on a silver platter, had probably been the best day of his life. That was closely followed by the phone call from Harry about his grant, and his first day on the dig - and, if he’s feeling especially sentimental, his eighth birthday.

\- 

Louis loves Egyptian mythology, loves the stories and beliefs and culture that are inherent in the fantastic tales he’s been reading for as long as he can recall. He thinks about them while he works on the site, feels like he’s uncovering centuries-old significance in the silt as he’s sifting through it, brushing the dirt away, digging centuries up carefully with his trowel.

He knows more stories than he can count by now, their variations and discrepancies and common threads. He often thinks about Tawaret, the hippopotamus goddess of childbirth, and about Ammit. She used to slither into his dreams, hide under his bed and around corners in the dark for months after he read the library books about her under his sheets past his bedtime; Ammit, the female demon, made like Tawaret in the image of a hippopotamus, but also part crocodile and lion as well. A terrifying combination of the three beasts that the ancient Egyptian people were most afraid of, her job was one that tasted like the the metallic edge of fear when Louis thought about it. Ammit ate _hearts_ , ate the unworthy hearts of all those deemed too poisoned with wrongdoing to pass into the Underworld, of those pitiful souls whose failures weighed more than the feather of truth. In front of the god Osiris, they were guilty, and Ammit feasted on them. If Ammit ate your heart, you ceased to exist entirely. Her name still sends a shiver down Louis’ spine, makes his pulse rise to remind him it’s still there, still safe from Ammit’s clutches. 

Louis could write entire manuscripts, epic volumes of the mythology his head is full of - he’s certainly spent many nights retelling them to his sisters, warm in his lap and resisting sleep to hear just a few more words, _just a little more, please Louis._ His very favorite story, the one that flashes through his mind when he’s in the shower, or on his knees in the ancient dust of the tomb, the one that slips behind his eyelids in the last moments before sleep and threads itself like ribbon through his dreams, is the story of Osiris, the very god who presided over the weighing of the hearts and Ammit’s next meal.

_The god Set killed his brother, Osiris, twice over. Both children of the sun god Re, Set was wildly jealous of Osiris and his wife, Isis, and their broad-reaching power._

_First, after careful plotting with the help of many henchmen, Set tricked Osiris into climbing inside of a beautiful, ornate chest, locking him in and sealing it with molten lead before setting him adrift down the Nile, the body of the god newly vacant within the chest as his mortal spirit traveled to the underworld._

_The chest eventually washed up on shore and was caught up in the branches of a great tree, which slowly grew until it had enveloped the container - and Osiris’ body - within its sturdy trunk. King Malcander and Queen Astarte heard of the beauty of this tree and had it cut down to become a pillar in their palace; it seemed that Set’s evil had done its work, that Osiris would remain gone and hidden forever inside his double wooden tomb._

_For all his deviousness, Set made one mistake. He underestimated Isis._

_Isis was brave, unfathomably brave, but she was terrified of the coldness that reigned in Set. She knew better than to underestimate _him_ , but she was also determined to find her husband, give him the honorable burial he deserved and needed for his soul to continue through the Underworld. _

_It was a long search, and largely, frustratingly fruitless, until she came to the banks where the chest had washed up and she learned of the pillar it had been swallowed by. Queen Astarte brought Isis into the palace, and when she revealed herself in her fearsome, brilliant goddess glory, Astarte and Malcander cut the chest out from the pillar; Isis, tenacious Isis, had her husband’s body back._

_Set was furious. He had been beaten by a woman, his sister, his self-proclaimed enemy’s wife. So he and his dogs set out to destroy the body over again, tearing it into 14 pieces and scattering it across the land, gluttonous with his hatred and triumph._

_This time, Isis knew better than to be fearful, knew Set was limited by his hatred and she buoyed by her love and determination. She had found Osiris before, and she would again. She’d do it for him, for their son, Horus, and for herself. And so, when she’d found all but the last piece of her husband’s body, (the last one having been devoured by impious fish), she bound him back together with her magic and hid him away, triumphing over Set and his twice-baked destruction._

_Horus, son of Isis and Osiris, child of a powerful man and a stronger woman, knew that it would someday be his turn to battle Set and avenge his family. His mother had set the path, shown him true loyalty, and honor, and bravery, and love. Isis was a queen, a goddess, a warrior, his mother._

Louis knows this story backwards and forwards, has since he was still in elementary school. He knows vividly in his head what that chest looked like and the smell of the hot breath from the fierce hounds of Set, too. He knows that in the end, good triumphed, that Horus fought and defeated Set, and that his victory was meant for honor, for revenge, for his father.

Louis’ always supposed that, at its base, its most truthful place, Horus’ triumph was for his mother. That Horus fought for Isis. That preserving a family and a love was so much bigger than an absent father. Battling in Isis’ name, that was a nobility he could understand.

-

Louis hears the van from the courtyard before he sees it, its metallic stomach rumbling hungrily. The cloud of dust kicked up in its wake rising like a hazy harbinger of something ominous, uneasy, although that could very well be the influence of the anxiety that’s still settled deep in Louis’ belly. He can see Harry’s mess of hair through the window as he fights with the gear shift, wrangling it into position and lurching the car forward in one last protest of inertia. He looks up in triumph, sees Louis and grins, flashing a thumbs up through the dirty window.

“Only 32 minutes late,” Harry calls across the stretch of ground between them as he tumbles out of the drivers seat, his long legs unbending and trying to find their bearings again as if he’s been adrift at sea for months. “Best yet, huh?”

“Proud of you, H. Did you bring me my minions?”

Harry gestures grandly beside him as the van door opens from the inside in its jerky, halting manner, the rust around the edges making it grate uncomfortably. “See for yourself, Lou.”

The first person out of the van is precisely not who Louis was expecting, a wiry girl with a blonde ponytail and crackling, laughing eyes. She’s sporting an Eagles t-shirt and the very pair of Nikes that Louis had been lusting over for months before the dig, and she raises her hand in his direction and shouts “Hello, I’m Niall!” before turning to help someone from the van behind her. 

Niall takes the backpack that’s being proffered to her by a hand thrust out of the open door, and Louis watches with interest as the hand turns out to be attached to one of the most beautiful people he’s seen in real life. 

He’s lean, nearly as tiny around the middle as Niall is, and even while Louis’ still approaching, he can tell that this guy has some kind of holy bone structure and eyelashes. It’s the sort of beauty that would be intimidating if he didn’t meet Louis’ gaze head on and smile easily, his eyes sparkling and his tongue pressed behind his teeth.

“Hey, I’m Louis,” Louis says, nodding to both of them. “I’m the assistant director of the dig.” Niall sticks out her unoccupied hand, grinning, and shakes Louis’ fiercely. The boy follows suit, says “Zayn,” by way of introduction as the last person climbs out of the van.

“Hello,” Louis says, reaching out to snag the duffle bag that the kid is wrangling awkwardly and which is in danger of falling off of his shoulder and onto the dusty ground. It looks heavy. “Hey, let me help you with that.”

“No, I’ve got it,” the boy snaps, and Louis drops his hand, startled. He’s on the brink of telling Harry to take this one back to the airport when the kid takes a deep breath, shifts the bag more comfortably onto his shoulder and says, “Sorry. I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m Liam.”

He holds out one broad hand, offering it to Louis. Louis looks at him warily, but he takes it, squeezes subtly to let Liam know he’s not an idiot as Liam smiles uncertainly. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Louis _understands_ that it’s a long trip here and that being in a new place is overwhelming, he does, but he won’t deal with bratty college kids on the dig, not when this place means so much to him. Well, he won’t deal with them aside from Harry.

“That’s all of you, yeah?” he asks, letting go after he feels he’s made his point clear to Liam and turning back towards where Harry is watching the whole thing play out. His amusement is clear on his face, and Louis scowls at him for it.

“Yup, these are your Three Musketeers,” Harry says, seemingly unfazed by Louis’ expression and pushing off of the hood of the van with his hip. He heads towards Louis and slings an arm over his shoulders, grinning at the three kids in front of them who are looking apprehensive and weary and excited all at once. 

“Wrong era for that reference entirely,” Louis says, flicks Harry under the chin. Harry doesn’t react; Louis has trained him well.

“This is Louis, as you’ve now learned,” Harry says, “and I’m Harry, as I hope you know by now, and that there is the Tomb of Sennefer.” He points lazily towards the dig with the hand that’s tucked around Louis’ shoulder.

Louis watches the three of them turn to look with interest, sees the way Niall’s shoulders drop and her neck cranes, notices Zayn’s eyes spark as he takes in the tents and the walls of the tomb. 

Liam, on the other hand, glances only cursorily before looking back at Harry, and then down at the ground, his brow furrowed. Something isn’t quite right, here, Louis sees, but he can’t be bothered with Liam’s attitude and now, also, that he’d be anything but thrilled to be here. This is a _big deal_ , and Liam should recognize how lucky he is to be on this site.

“As I said earlier,” Louis starts, “I’m the assistant director of the dig here, and for all intents and purposes, your boss. Dr. James is the director, you’ll meet him soon. He’s down in the tomb right now, working in the antechamber.” His palms are sweating, and he wipes them against the material of his shorts. “Try not to bother Dr. James with anything unimportant. If you have questions, bring them to me. If you have stupid questions, take them to Harry.” He grins as Harry makes a betrayed noise and tries to pinch one of his ears, but Louis is too quick and squirms away before the attack lands.

“Follow me,” he says, opening the trunk for them to grab the rest of their suitcases and then heading towards the tents. He pointedly watches Liam struggle a bit to wrangle his suitcase out from the awkward configuration of the van and folds his arms over his chest. “I’ll show you to your sleeping areas. You’re going to have a day to get settled and learn about camp, and then tomorrow we’re putting you to work.”

“Sick,” he hears Niall say behind him. “This is so _sick_.”

Louis likes Niall already.

-

Greg emerges from the depths of the tomb with a few of the other dig crew members just as Louis has left the three kids in their trailer with Harry to show them how everything works in his lilting drawl. The benefits of having an easygoing filmmaker best friend with no real duties on the dig is that Louis can assign him to do all of the things that Louis doesn’t particularly care for, like helping their new arrivals unpack and settle in.

“Kiddos arrive?” Greg asks, pulling on the baseball cap that’s been looped through his pants and depositing his tools in the roped-off section where they keep dig implements during the day.

“Here and alright! I’m shocked the van didn’t break down on the way back with Harry driving.”

Greg laughs, well aware of Harry’s mythical penchant for destroying motorized vehicles. To be fair, Louis doesn’t have the greatest track record, either, but at least he’s conscious of it. Harry appears to remain blissfully unaware of his erratic driving. “Do they seem like a good bunch?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “they seem great.” He means it, for the most part; he does also think about Liam’s expression surveying the dig, the way he’d snapped when Louis offered to help him with his bag. He’s not going to tell Greg, doesn’t want to ruin Liam’s chances for proving himself on site just yet, but he certainly won’t forget it. There’s only room for one attitude on this dig and it’s _his_ , thanks very much. 

“Can I meet them?” Greg’s face is streaked with dust but he looks eager. Louis almost wants to laugh about what a goofy kid Greg is himself, despite being a highly decorated professor and archaeologist. He wants to kiss the dumb smile right off of Greg’s face sometimes, too. 

“Of course,” he says, instead of acting on that impulse, grinning and hitching a thumb back towards their trailer, parked near the rest of them where everyone on the dig sleeps. It’s like a little village cluster, and Louis’ rather fond of it. “They’re unpacking, but Harry’s bringing them over for food in a bit and then I’m going to take them on a tour.”

“Beautiful. I’ll meet you in the food tent,” Greg says, “I’m going to go clean up.” He lopes off in the direction of the bathrooms, leaving Louis with wide open skies and the quiet hum of the tomb next to him. He loves this place.

Louis wanders over towards the food tent himself, intending to find Geb, their cook, and harass him for a few of the date balls that he loves and knows Geb keeps stashed away. He’ll roll his eyes and feign innocence, but Geb’s got a soft spot for Louis a mile wide and won’t deny him, Louis’ certain. 

He makes it almost all the way to the tent when he hears someone call his name brightly through the dusty air, and turns to find Niall striding towards him. 

She’s still in the big Eagles t-shirt and Nikes that she was wearing when she arrived, her hair in a ponytail and a bouncy confidence in her stride. It’s the kind of outfit that Louis would’ve worn on a snack run during finals at college, dashing to the store for Ramen and coffee. She looks comfortable and laid back and excited all at once; Louis remembers the excitement from his own first day, but he’s almost envious of the rest, wishes he’d felt so easy when he’d first arrived on site.

“Hey,” Niall says, coming closer and grinning at Louis. “Harry mentioned something about a food tent and lunch and I thought I’d seek it out.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, smiling and pulling back the flap to let her inside. “Glad you found it okay. Are the others not coming?”

“They’ll be here in a bit,” Niall shrugs, looking around the spacious inside of the tent with interest as she talks. “Seemed to be quite concerned with unpacking, actually. Zayn kept talking about how everything was _folded wrong_ or some shit, but I’d already dumped everything into my drawers. My stomach is the real priority here, wasn’t going to wait around.” 

Louis laughs. His instinctive, initial appreciation of Niall had clearly been well-placed. “Liam, too?” he asks, chiding himself a bit for even caring. He has a vivid mental picture of Liam fastidiously unpacking his bags and refusing to let anyone help him. To be fair, he has no idea if it’s accurate, and maybe Liam only has an aversion to Louis; if Harry’s worked his magic, they’ve all probably traded jeans by now and Harry’s convinced Liam to loan him a shirt as a headband already.

“No idea,” Niall says. “I got out of there too quickly to notice.” She sniffs appreciatively, running her long fingers over the tables as they make their way towards the back. Geb sees them coming, smiles grudgingly in Louis’ direction.

“Have you brought someone new to steal food from me? Eh?” Geb asks, brandishing a wooden spoon in Louis’ direction. “I don’t need another rascal like you around here.”

“Steal food? _Me_?” Louis says with mock outrage, reaching out to snatch a piece of pita off of one of the prepared platters. He bites off a chunk and says, “Geb, I would _never_ ,” around the mouthful.

Niall is watching this all with a pleased look on her face, happily taking the rest of the pita when Louis offers it to her. “I’m Niall,” she says, waving at Geb. “Everything looks and smells amazing, I can’t wait to try it.” 

“She literally _couldn’t_ wait,” Louis says, “she came over from the trailer early because she was so excited.” Louis can’t suppress his grin, happy to help Niall get an in with Geb, too, certain from the way she’s looking around bright-eyed that she’ll appreciate the food just like he does. Geb’s still shaking his head at Louis, but his smile is fond and he nods kindly to Niall. He can’t resist compliments of his cooking, and Louis knows he’s already going to love Niall. She seems to have that effect on people.

“Well,” Geb says, “the food’s almost ready, but I _suppose_ if you’re that hungry you can have some early. There’s fresh hummus,” he adds, pointing again with the spoon towards the back counter where Louis sees a familiar bowl sitting. “Help yourselves, rascals.”

Niall doesn’t hesitate, clearly eager to get something in her stomach after a long few days of travelling. Louis likes it, likes having a co-rascal to mess around with, especially when there’s something yummy involved. Niall seems up for anything, and he imagines it’ll translate nicely to her work on the dig.

“So,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter and scooping up a mound of hummus, “how did you end up here?”

“It’s a good story, actually,” Niall says, following suit and popping an enormous bite into her mouth. Her ponytail is falling sideways and the neck of her shirt is stretched from wear, slipping to one side off of her shoulder, but she seems wholly unbothered.

“Last fall I really needed a history distro credit, right, and I had a shitty registration time and there weren’t many options left, and the worst part was that _all_ of them were at nine am. Which, like, I’d rather not graduate than have nine am class.” Louis laughs again, remembering clearly how anything before noon felt like the crack of dawn while he was still in school.

“Where do you go?” He asks, not remembering from the bit of her application he’d read.

“Wash U,” she says, holding out her arm to show him a wristband. It has the Washington University crest on it, right next to the Greek letters ΠΒΦ. “Go Bears,” she cheers quietly, pumping her fist into the air and baring her teeth in a horribly endearing growl.

Louis laughs, unable to resist at the ferocious face she’s making. “Pi Phi?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. Niall hadn’t struck him as the sorority type, but he likes a good surprise, anyway.

“Chapter president,” Niall grins, raising one eyebrow and shoving another bite of food into her mouth. “Voted most social _and_ hottest sorority on campus last year.”

“This isn’t making me any less curious about how you got here,” Louis says, and Niall throws her head back in a throaty laugh that makes Geb turn from the stove to survey them with interest.

“Right,” Niall says, “I forgot we weren’t just talking about how great my sorority is. Anyway, there was one class that I could register for that wasn’t too early, and it happened to be an Egyptology class, which - I mean, I knew nothing about it, but it had good reviews and I figured, like, what the hell, it would be an adventure.”

“Certainly seems like it turned out that way,” Louis says, arching an eyebrow and gesturing around them with the last bite of pita in his hand.

“Yeah, right? Can’t believe I’m here, it’s sick,” Niall says. “I mean, the class was pretty small and we did a lot of discussion instead of lectures, talked about all sorts of interesting stuff. For some reason I just _loved_ it, right, like I actually did all of the readings and I talked so much during class and the professor really liked me, who knows why.” She shrugs, and Louis thinks with surprise that Niall genuinely doesn’t know how bright and engaging she is. “She asked if I was doing anything this summer and when I told her I was just going home to lifeguard, she told me to apply for this. She knows - ah, shit, I think you said his name’s Greg? The director?”

“Dr. James,” Louis corrects, figuring he should set the stage for some kind of professionalism, even though Greg will do his best to surprise them out of it. “Yeah, he’s great, you’ll meet him soon,” Louis says, pointedly ignoring the swoop in his stomach at the mention of Greg’s name. He’s not a seventh grader with a crush, for godssakes. Well, he’s a twenty-four year old with a crush, but whatever. At least he’s got dignity about it. Sort of. “I think the Egyptology world is pretty small, everyone I’ve met seems to know Greg, or at least know of him.”

“That’s so _cool_ ,” Niall says, and it makes something warm and happy settle in Louis’ body, the fact that she appreciates this in the way he wishes everyone would.

“What’s the deal with Harry?” Niall asks next, and Louis opens his mouth around a laugh to reply when Harry himself comes bustling through the door of the tent with Liam and Zayn in tow, the two of them squinting into the dim light of the tent after the fierce mid-afternoon sunshine outside.

“Speak of the devil,” Louis says, “I’ll let him tell you himself.”

Harry is loping towards them on his long legs, pouting when he sees that they’ve started eating. “You got food already?” he whines at Louis, skidding to a stop in front of them and crossing his arms before he notices that Niall’s got food, too. “Geb let _you_ eat?” he says to her, accusatory, his eyebrows scrunched up in the picture of hurt feelings. Niall grins and nods in response, shrugging her shoulders unapologetically at Harry’s whining.

“Geb _never_ lets me eat early, he says that’s only for Louis - ” Harry complains, but he’s cut off by Geb smacking him across the butt with the towel he usually tucks into the strings of his apron.

“Heeeey,” Harry frowns, but there’s the edge of a smile sliding into the corner of his mouth that he can’t quite control, and it comes out full-fledged when Geb holds out a spoonful of rice pudding for Harry to eat. Liam and Zayn are watching the whole thing with interest, Zayn’s eyes glinting with amusement.

“Don’t get used to it,” Geb warns, tapping Harry on the nose with the spoon. Harry goes cross-eyed trying to look at it and Geb laughs. “That was just to shut you up, it won’t happen again.”

“I know,” Harry says, but he’s got on a cheshire cat grin that Louis knows means he’s pleased with having gotten exactly what he wanted.

Geb sighs, putting a hand on both Niall and Harry’s shoulders and pushing them towards the tables. “Shoo,” he says, exasperatedly. “Go and sit, the food’s almost ready.”

“Dr. James should be here soon,” Louis says. “Do you want me to walkie him?” Any excuse to use the walkie talkie, honestly. Louis wishes they all had secret spy sign offs, but that had been where Greg decided to draw the line, apparently. 

“Yes,” Geb nods, giving Louis a skeptical look at _Dr. James_. “Please give Greg a call for me,” he says, and bustles back to the stove to plate everything up. 

It’s a bit late for lunch, and most of the dig workers have already eaten, so it’s just going to be them and Greg in the tent for this meal. Louis slaps a friendly hand on Zayn’s shoulder as he passes and is rewarded with a dazzling grin. He nods to Liam curtly as he sits down, knowing he can’t just ignore him completely, but he turns his attention to pulling his walkie talkie off of his belt instead of focusing on Liam’s silence.

“Greg?” he says into it and waits for the responding _yeah, I’m here_. “Our lovely Geb requests your presence in the food tent. Lunch is ready,” he finishes, putting the walkie down next to his plate. Just, you know, in case.

The others are sitting down, Harry across from him with Liam and Zayn, Niall straddling the bench on Louis’ left side, and none of them are paying much attention to Louis, too focused on unrolling their silverware from the napkins and settling in. It doesn’t stop him from trying to hide his grin behind the walkie talkie as Greg replies with “Aye aye, cap’n,” the static crackling and distorting his voice. Harry, ridiculous as he is, doesn’t miss the smile and kicks Louis under the table with a knowing look. Louis throws a grape at his face.

“Please don’t _waste fruit_ , Louis,” Harry chides, plucking it up from where it’s landed on the table and chomping down on with obnoxious satisfaction. He offers the bowl of grapes to Zayn, who takes a few, and then to Liam, who refuses with half of a smile. Louis wonders if Liam just makes a habit of saying _no_ to everything.

“Ah, the newbies!” Greg’s voice comes from the tent entrance, where he’s just standing up straight after hunching to fit through the tent flaps. Louis wonders what it would be like to live in a world where everything is just a few inches too small for you, like Greg does. “Harry, glad you got them here in one piece.”

Harry laughs, saluting. “Was that a real concern?” Niall inquires, eyebrows raised above her grin as Greg comes to stand on Louis’ other side and offer his hand around the table for shaking. 

“Call me Greg, please,” he says, first thing. So much for Louis’ attempts at professionalism, then. Greg seems, somehow, to already have figured out who each of them is as he introduces himself and says their names. It’s part of his easy charm, which Louis is very pointedly not a bit charmed by.

“Yeah,” Louis says, turning to Niall to answer her question. “Harry is notoriously…clumsy, shall we say, and that doesn’t translate particularly well to being behind a wheel.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Zayn says, turning to survey Harry with a dubious smile. “Suppose that’s not really a huge surprise, though.” His eyes crinkle up in the corner when Harry attempts to look offended.

Greg laughs, a delighted little chuckle. “True,” he agrees, settling down on the bench. “That smile gets him out of everything, though, probably including car crashes.” (No, Louis is not at all annoyed by Harry dimpling all over the place at the compliment. He isn’t, nor does he need Greg to compliment his smile as well. It would be nice, is all.)

“Food!” Geb says, making his way over to their table with an absurd number of plates balanced in his hands and arms. Liam stands almost instantly when he sees him approaching, helping Geb unload them all onto the table without spilling anything. Interesting; apparently he’s willing to give help, even if he won’t accept it. Louis is still skeptical.

“This looks incredible as usual, Geb,” Greg says, taking the spoon in the couscous and offering scoops around the table. Geb nods with a smile and says “enjoy,” before bustling back towards the kitchen, his clear domain and favorite place no matter what time of day it is.

They’re silent around the table as they begin, everyone too eager to get food in their stomachs for much conversation. Louis hasn’t even flown halfway around the world and his tummy is grumbling, so he can’t imagine how hungry the others must be feeling.

“Reminds me a bit of my mom’s cooking,” Zayn says after a few bites, breaking the silence. They’re all still digging in eagerly, even Niall despite the snack she and Louis just indulged in. 

“Yeah?” Louis says, curious. He knows a bit more about Niall, now, after their chat, but Zayn - and Liam, too - is still an unknown entity to him. “Lucky you, then, Geb’s food is delicious.”

“It is,” Zayn agrees. “I’m part Pakistani, and my mom cooks traditional food for us all the time. She makes fresh naan like, four times a week, and all kinds of curries and these incredible lentils with caramelized onions - ” he cuts himself off with a small, bashful smile, looking like he could keep listing foods forever if he doesn’t stop. “I was so spoiled by it growing up. Worst part of college was being away from that. This is so great.”

“Dorm food is pretty shitty no matter what you ate at home, so I can imagine,” Louis says, and Harry makes a noise of agreement around his mouthful of food. He and Louis were both intimately familiar with the dorm cuisine at both Brown and RISD, had spent a lot of late nights splurging on Papa John’s to supplement their diets after avoiding the dining halls, both for the dinner and the often unasked-for company.

“I don’t mind it so much,” Niall says, “but I mean - I eat anything.” She grins at Zayn, a little sly, not shy in the least. “I’d love to try your mom’s cooking sometime, sounds incredible,” Niall continues across the table to Zayn, and his face lights up.

“Sure,” he says, almost too quickly. “Yeah, that’d be nice. She loves cooking for people, I think she misses having me around to do it for, my sisters aren’t nearly as big of eaters as I am. I bet she’d like you, though,” he finishes, raising his eyebrows at Niall. 

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at Louis across the table; he _loves_ matchmaking, claims he has a bloodhound nose for other people’s crushes, although he often seems incredibly oblivious to his own. This has all the makings of a headache, but Louis can’t wait.

-

It’s a nice lunch, all things considered, everyone laughing and chatting once they’ve gotten full and aren’t so solely focused on getting food in their bellies. Louis watches with his usual astonishment as Greg easily charms Zayn, Niall, and even Liam, Louis blushing hotly each time that Harry makes a gagging face at him or nudges his knee under the table while he watches Greg with too much adoration on his face.

Niall and Zayn really seem to have hit it off nicely, too, grinning and making jokes across the table, and it turns something inside of Louis hopeful and fuzzy the more he watches, the prospect of this dig being as warm and exciting and nurturing of a place for these kids as it has been for him. Liam, unsurprisingly, is quiet, sitting just at the edge of the conversation and eating precise, careful mouthfuls of food without speaking up much, although some of the hard angles in his jaw and attitude seem to have softened.

“Try some of these beans,” Louis says to him, holding out a bowl and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Liam looks uncertain. He swallows his bite of pita and says, “I’m alright,” with a weak attempt at a smile. Louis feels a strange sense of vindication. He’d been expecting the rejection.

Louis can’t help but watch him, a few times after that, still feeling uncertain and cautious and frustrated with his attitude. Something is off about Liam that he can’t quite put his finger on, and in comparison with Niall’s easy openness and Zayn’s bright eyes and eager smile, it feels even more stark. Louis doesn’t really know him at all, in fact he knows nothing about him beyond his name and his initial impression, but he has the weird sensation that Liam’s closed-off attitude isn’t _normal_ for him, that something’s happening under the surface and throwing his balance off. Louis is even more frustrated not to understand what it is; he’s determined to figure it out if he can. At least then he can possibly justify his grudging dislike. 

Liam catches his eye only once, while Louis’ watching him, and despite Louis’ expectations, he holds his gaze with a kind of fierce, heady stare for a long, challenging moment. Louis has to break it, hating himself as he does so for giving in.

The next time his gaze drifts, Liam’s looking determinedly down at his near-empty plate again.

“Time for a tour?” Louis says, after it’s clear that they’ve all had their fill, the plate of couscous entirely demolished. Harry’s managed to only spill on himself once, and Niall’s managed to talk her way into eating half of everything Zayn put on his plate, which impresses Louis. He shows them the tub to deposit their dirty plates in and blows Geb a kiss across the tent, rolling his eyes as Harry sneaks to grab another bunch of grapes for their tour.

“Have fun, don’t break anything,” Greg calls, jogging off to catch the van before it heads into Luxor for the night. He’s having a meeting with the board of a museum, hoping to make a deal with them with regard to some of the artifacts that they’ve uncovered, including the canopic jar that Louis’ so proud of. He reminds himself to show if off to the other three after their tour from where it’s currently in lockdown in their artifact safe.

“I’m going to grab my camera,” Harry says as they exit the tent, tilting his head back and popping a grape into his mouth obscenely as he slides on his sunglasses. “I wanna get their faces on film when they see everything for the first time.” The evening sun is burning like a cinder as Louis nods, smacking him lightly on the butt, and Harry jogs off towards their trailer with an over-the-shoulder-wink. 

“This way,” Louis says, leading the other three towards the tomb and shaking his head as Niall raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly between him and where Harry is loping ungracefully into the sun. 

The tomb looks beautiful in this light, Louis’ favorite time of day to be in the courtyard. The sun is sloping easily through the columns that line the sides, the dust underfoot looking glittery and the painted grapes on the walls nearly as lush and edible as the ones Harry’s snatched from the food tent. 

Louis leads them into the middle of the open area, careful to avoid the two foot square section that’s been roped off for work, partitioned carefully and reserved for whichever of the dig staff chooses to stay in the courtyard at any given time. He’d been working on it earlier, meticulously dusting aside centuries-old dirt with a small hand brush in hopes of finding something, a clue to the lives of the people who’d lived and worked and worshipped here in a whole other era. He’d ended for the day when Harry’d arrived with the van, which already feels like ages gone by, but everything in the small section looks just as he’d left it, calm with a promise of future exploration. It’s like a personal zen garden, a minute space of both internal and external discovery, and it makes his pulse beat heavier just being near it. 

“Feel free to look around, but be careful where you step,” he says once they’ve reached the center of the courtyard. “Also, don’t touch, at least not for now. Some of this is really fragile, the paint especially, and touch can compromise it.”

“Definitely,” Niall says, already wandering off. Zayn nods at him in acknowledgement, too. 

“Did you hear me, Liam?” Louis says when Liam doesn’t meet his eyes, a little more sharply than he intended. “Don’t touch.”

Liam looks at his toes. “Alright, yeah. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Just - just make sure I know you’re paying attention next time.” Louis doesn’t relish feeling like a dick, but if he’s going to be working with Liam for the next six weeks, he’s got to make some things clear. 

To his left, when he turns away from where Liam is still staring at his feet, is the dark, cool hollow of the archway which leads into the temple sanctuary. Through the entry and past the altar and the strong pillars is the gaping mouth of the opening into the underground depths of the tomb against the far wall, its damp smell carrying with it something ancient and immutable. He’ll show them that next, but for now he lets them wander a bit on their own, take in the quiet and understated magnificence of where they are.

Niall is already sidling close to one of the columns, peering up at it and running a careful finger over the grooves in its marbled sides. “ _Sick,_ ” he hears her breathe, wonders with a smile if she actually has another way to describe something she finds cool or if “sick” is her trademark expression. 

Zayn, too, is crouched down on his haunches next to the front wall of the temple, examining the paint detail near the sanctuary’s entrance with bright, keen eyes. Louis can see almost a full sleeve of tattoos spilling down his arm and wonders if Zayn designed any of them himself, if his clear fascination with the painting on the wall has something to do with his own personal interests and hobbies. Louis really can’t wait to chat with Zayn, figure out what’s going on behind his smart words and sparkling eyes.

“We studied painting techniques just like this in my ancient art class,” Zayn says, looking up and catching Louis watching him. “It’s unbelievable to see something like this in person.”

“I know,” Louis agrees. He does know, too, remembers the impossibility of seeing things he’d studied on paper for years in front of his own eyes. “You go to Columbia, yeah?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. He’d read Zayn’s entire application, remembers thinking there was no way Zayn was a real person. Now that he’s seen him, he’s still not sure he’s real.

Zayn grins beatifically. “Yeah,” he says. “Do you know Cronewell? He used to teach with Dr. James - I mean, uh, Greg. That’s how I heard about the program.”

“I do,” Louis says, decisively not telling the story of when he’d met Dr. Cronewell and been so nervous he’d tripped over his own feet on his way into Greg’s office. “I remember hearing about his ancient art class, sounds pretty cool.”

“Not as cool as this,” Zayn grins, and goes back to examining.

Louis’ almost nervous to turn and observe Liam, half sure he’ll still be stuck staring at his toes. Louis feels like he’s not going to be pleased, no matter what Liam’s doing; he can’t stop his brain from replaying Liam snapping at him earlier and his apparent disinterest in the dig when he’d surveyed it. Louis isn’t someone who dislikes by nature, or without good reason, but he does hold a grudge shockingly well when it’s warranted. He’s torn between his already existing concerns about Liam’s attitude and wanting to be proved wrong about them.

For the first time, though, when Louis turns to check in with Liam, he finds he isn’t frustrated while observing him. Liam’s stood stock still in the place that Louis had lead them to in the middle of the courtyard, his feet planted and his head tilted back to stare upwards at the vast expanse of the sky. He’s not moving, but his chest is heaving, giant breaths that Louis can almost feel expanding in his own lungs as he watches him.

What Liam is experiencing is something that Louis _knows_ , it’s a feeling he _gets_. 

He can’t help it, moves closer to where Liam is standing. He feels compelled, wants to make sure that Liam is feeling the way Louis thinks he is before he gives him too much credit.

“This is incredible,” Liam says, his voice so low and soft that Louis isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it, at least until Liam lowers his chin and turns his head to look at Louis. His eyes are careful, fierce, like he’s trying to impress Louis with something important. “Really, really incredible. It’s surreal to be standing here.”

Louis is about to reply, wants to open his mouth and spew a mess of words at Liam about how much he agrees, how sometimes standing in the middle of this temple and just breathing can make him feel huge and important and infinitesimal all at the same time. He stops, though, hesitates just as he catches sight of one of the few tattoos wending its way up Liam’s arm.

“Is that - ” he starts, taking a step closer to try and see it better. “What’s that tattoo?” he asks bluntly, pointing a finger towards Liam’s wrist. Liam looks startled, like he wasn’t prepared for Louis to talk to him, but he lifts up his arm and examines it with wide eyes, as though he’s not quite sure what Louis’ referring to - or he doesn’t want to be.

“That one,” Louis says, pointing more directly to where he can see the hieroglyphic of a lion inked onto the thin skin above the broad spread of Liam’s palm.

Liam’s face goes pinkish all at once, and he turns his wrist more fully so that Louis can see the rest of the tattoo. Louis was right, it is a hieroglyph, and it’s not the only one. There’s a lion, and then a feather, a bird, and an owl, all inked in a careful line downwards toward the soft line of Liam’s wrist, and it hits Louis so quickly that he actually groans out loud.

“I know,” Liam says quickly. “I know it’s dumb.”

Louis looks up, looks right at Liam’s blush and his uncertain eyes. He doesn’t know how to feel about this, how to feel about the fact that this kid has attempted to tattoo his own name down his arm in an ancient language, the very ancient language that is in fact still alive in the tomb they’re standing above. He remembers Liam’s seeming disinterest with the dig and is all at once angry, filled to the brim with some sort of indescribable rage that this kid is here and is under his jurisdiction for the next few weeks, and doesn’t seem to understand the first thing about what’s actually happening.

“You _do_ know that that’s not how hieroglyphics work, right?” Louis asks, trying to keep the scathing skepticism that he’s feeling from seeping into his voice, though that’s never been one of his strong suits.

“Yeah,” Liam says, “I know.” If anything, the blush is burning deeper in his cheeks, and Louis turns on his heel to head into the temple before he can say something meaner ( _then were you_ drunk _when you got it?_ is what comes to mind). If that’s the way Liam approaches this, if that’s the way he sees this culture and the way he’ll go about this entire project - 

“I took an entire class on hieroglyphics,” Liam says. 

Louis can feel his eyebrows raising incredulously, almost of their own accord. “Then _why_ ,” he starts, gesturing towards Liam’s wrist. He expects it to have been a frat boy dare, an induction tattoo or something equally ridiculous; the only other person he’s known from USD, where Liam goes, is an insufferable Delta Chi named Max who’d gone to high school with Louis and once asked him for a blow job in the bathroom at prom. He threatened to tell everyone Louis’d had sex with a teacher when Louis refused. A blatantly made up lie, but at least he hadn’t followed through on spreading it. 

“It was my mom’s idea,” Liam says before Louis can complete the question, his voice quiet and low again. The sentence startles Louis, who’s still thinking about Max fucking Epstein and whether or not Liam’s even in a frat. Liam is staring down at his arm, tracing a careful finger over the lion, the hieroglyphic _L_ of his name. “She loves Egypt, loves mythology. She used to write my name like this on napkins in my school lunches. I got it when - I got it for her,” he finishes, looking up at last to meet Louis’ gaze.

Louis doesn’t know what to say. He can tell there’s a story here, something to be uncovered, but he doesn’t know how to go about doing so. He’s made snap judgements about Liam since the moment he stepped out of the van, and he isn’t sure he’s ready to redact them all now, but something about the thread of bass in Liam’s voice stops him short, makes him think that he’s not being entirely fair. 

“You’re not in Delta Chi, are you?” is the only thing he can think to say, nonsensically.

“No,” Liam says, looking puzzled. His fingers are still tracing his tattoo, absently, and it makes Louis irrationally angry. He doesn’t understand why this kid is getting under his skin so much.

Louis holds Liam’s gaze until he can’t anymore, trying to prove some unidentifiable thing to both of them, before turning quickly on his heel. The sun feels scalding against the back of his neck.

“Ready to see inside?” he asks brightly, in what he hopes is Niall and Zayn’s general direction, and then turns and heads into the cool recesses of the temple. He doesn’t turn to see if Liam’s followed him in.

\- 

When Louis wakes up, he’s feeling tired and unsure. He hasn’t felt this way often during his five months on the dig, and it’s throwing him all out of whack. 

He rolls over in his narrow bunk, glances across the trailer bunks to where Harry is still asleep, his unruly head of hair propped up against his arm and a small dark spot of drool visible on his pillow in the early morning light. His trusty camera is stashed at the foot of his bed, tucked neatly next to his feet after he’d watch the footage of Louis showing Zayn and Niall and Liam around the temple and down the first few steps into the tomb last night.

It’s the first time Louis hasn’t wanted to get out of bed and get started with the day right away in a long time, even including his nervousness yesterday. He doesn’t know quite what’s got him all off kilter, but a glance at his watch tells him that Greg will be headed to get breakfast soon, and hell if Louis is going to miss a chance to have a meal with him.

He pushes open the flap of the food tent with a yawn that’s so forceful it stops him in his tracks, brought on by the glare of early morning sun and the smell of Yorkshire tea that Geb makes just to indulge Louis strong in the cool open area of the tent.

Greg is already sat at one of the tables, his elbows on the table and back bowed. He’s reading an English newspaper that must’ve come with the early morning truck from Luxor delivering food and supplies to the various digs at the Tombs of the Nobles. Louis wonders if it might have a comics section, and if so how he can wrangle it out without embarrassing himself. 

Greg looks up at Louis’ slow, sleepy entrance, smiles so warmly and certainly at Louis that Louis feels his stomach flutter like actual butterfly wings, like Harry’s big moth has somehow been transmuted to his own torso. God, he hates how gone he is for Greg, so gross that he’s using his best friend’s _tattoos_ to describe his feelings.

“Morning,” he says, annoyed, too, at the way his voice is scratchy and even higher with the leftover remnants of sleep than it normally is. He settles across from Greg, grinning appreciatively up at Geb when he bustles over with a cup of tea. Louis doesn’t move his foot when it brushes up against Greg’s under the table. “Anything interesting happening in the world today?”

“They’ve trained a dog to bark the alphabet,” Greg says excitedly, tilting the paper so Louis can read the headline he’s referring to. Maybe Louis will ask for the comics, after all, if this is the kind of thing Greg’s into.

“Ah, journalism at its finest,” Louis says drily, feigning skepticism but skimming the article nonetheless. He takes a long sip of tea, wincing as it sears the back of his throat and nearly groaning at how much better it makes him feel. Greg grins, nudges his foot against Louis’ under the table and seems oblivious to the sparks that it sends up Louis’ spine.

“What’s the plan for the day?” he asks, passing Louis the basket of pita. “Are you easing the kids in or are you going to throw them in head first? They seem like a good bunch, I’m excited to see you put them to work.”

“Me too,” Louis says, smiling over the mug of his tea as he thinks. “Hmm,” he hums, considering. He’s always been a sink or swim, learn-as-you-go kind of guy, but he also wants them to all feel comfortable, remembers how terrified he was of fucking something up for his first couple of days. 

He thinks about Liam, about his heaving breaths in the courtyard yesterday as he took everything in, thinks about Niall and Zayn’s reverent exploration, thinks he can maybe trust them to really dig in without it being anything too scary. He’ll just - he’ll just keep a cautious eye on Liam, that’s all.

“Think I’ll start them at a medium-sized place,” he says by way of an answer. “Ease ‘em in but let some exploring happen. I have to make sure they’re familiar with all of the tools and practices, you know, but - I dunno, I think they’ve got a lot of potential.”

“Beautiful,” Greg says. “Beautiful. I wish I could be here to supervise, but I’m heading back into Luxor for the day.” He sees Louis’ surprised look and shrugs, smiling sheepishly and taking a long drink of coffee. “The museum wants to chat more about which pieces to commision, and they’re offering me free lunch and booze. I couldn’t say no.”

“Jealous,” Louis says, pouting his bottom lip out a bit. “I know I’m only the _assistant_ director, but it seems just a _bit_ unfair that you get to be wined and dined while I’m here babysitting.”

Greg laughs, giving Louis an appraising look that makes him feel hot all over. “Please,” he says, “as if you aren’t thrilled at the opportunity to boss your new underlings around today and for the next few weeks. And - I’m trying to sell them on one of your canopic jars. Could have your name on a museum-quality piece after today, if I’m good.” Greg winks; Louis feels his organs slowly shriveling.

Louis keeps his pouting strong, as a point of pride (he’s sure Greg can see through most of his affectations by now, anyway), but he’s thrilled. _Thrilled_. Imagine something he found in a _museum_. 

“Alright, alright,” Greg says, grinning in spite of himself. That settles it, he definitely can read Louis entirely too well. “I’ll bring you back a treat from lunch if I can smuggle it away. Also, if you think the kiddos will be up for it, we can go out in Luxor this weekend.”

Louis perks up instantly, both at the prospect of some kind of treat and at the possibility of going out to his favorite bar in Luxor in a few days, the two ideas cherries on top of the potential of having his canopic jars put on display. “You spoil me,” he says, and Greg rolls his eyes, the laugh lines on his face creasing prettily.

They’ve done it a few times, taken the creaky van and whichever dig members want to go into Greg’s favorite place in Luxor, gotten drunk off of sweating, green bottles of Stella and sung terrible karaoke renditions while Greg danced like an oversized marionette puppet on the dirty dance floor. If anything’s going to get him through the day, it’s that. That and probably Niall, and possibly whatever treats he can steal from Geb.

He’s got it pretty good, all things considered. 

-

Zayn, Niall, and even Liam catch on remarkably quickly, both to Louis’ delight and jealousy. It had taken him a while to acclimate after his arrival, to feel proficient with the tools on site and the way everything works. He still sometimes feels like he’s making everything up as he goes, despite his time and experience so far. Each of the three of his minions, on the other hand, seem to find their stride quickly and easily, though they’re all good at different sorts of things.

Zayn’s attention to detail is incredible to watch: his fastidious focus, tongue between his teeth and fingers moving so, so carefully over the ground he uncovers, like each bit of it is as precious as any artifact they might find. 

Liam, for his part, is careful too, although in a way that frustrates Louis. He’s constantly pausing, assessing his work and the space around him, adjusting the minutiae of his tools and his workspace. Louis can’t snap at him, he’s not technically doing anything _wrong_ \- in fact he’s doing it all infuriatingly right - but Louis hates watching it, feels like Liam’s missing the entire soul of the work. He’s a pretentious dick about this stuff, he knows, he’s heard from Harry enough times, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling infinitely superior to Liam’s cautious way of operating. 

Louis knows that acting on impulse is the most fun way to get good results, is all; Liam operates like every move has been planned four steps in advance. Louis wants to shake him up.

Niall’s curiosity is what seems to serve her best, making her endlessly fascinated by even the smallest things; she spends a solid twenty minutes handling each of the tools laid out near the squared off section of the temple courtyard where Louis’ brought them to work, and then another hour testing them each out to their fullest extent. “Louis!” she hollers, upon discovering that one of the trowels actually transforms into a pair of clippers, “did you know it could do this?” 

“Sure did,” he call back from where he’s crouched next to Zayn, showing him how to brush through the thinnest layers of dirt and remove bits of it at a time to clear the area in tiny, precise increments. “Pretty handy, huh?”

It’s not the only thing that Niall finds exciting, either, not by a long shot. “Gonna start keeping a tally every time she says ‘sick,’” Zayn says to Louis on the second day, as Niall’s examining the very canopic jar that Greg is attempting to get placed at the museum, the one Louis had been responsible for uncovering in the temple during his third week on site. “Not sure if I wanna charge her a nickel each time, or take a shot.”

“Definitely the money,” Louis says with a laugh, just as Niall calls, “I can hear you, assholes,” in their general direction, her voice remarkably empty of malice. “I don’t want to die of alcohol poisoning, thanks.”

“Good point,” Zayn laughs, startling backwards as Niall appears suddenly at his shoulder and taps him fondly on the nose with her middle finger, grinning in an entirely-too-pleased manner that Louis recognizes from his own arsenal of expressions.

“That jar _is_ sick, though,” she says, turning to Louis. Zayn laughs, slings an arm over her freckled shoulders as he agrees. 

“We read about these in my class,” Niall continues. “It’s still so fascinating to me that they thought everything _human_ was in the heart, and that they had no problem just scraping out the brain. I want to be buried with my heart in a jar like this. I’m serious!” she says, turning under Zayn’s arm to address him as he laughs. “It’s just so badass.”

“It really is,” Liam says, surprising all three of them and smiling a bit shyly as they turn to him simultaneously. “Really, really badass, actually.” Louis is startled, more so than he’d like to admit. It’s the first time Liam’s actually deigned to look him in the eyes since their lunch on the first day. 

Liam’s been looking at the jar where it’s sitting in its case, one of the sealed artifact boxes they have on site to protect various finds once they’re uncovered. 

Greg is the only one in possession of the keys and had unlocked it a bit ago for them. It was his idea, actually, for Louis to show it off, and even though it’s silly and he’s all puffed up with pride, Louis also feels unspeakably nervous about having it out in the open. It’s the coolest and most significant thing he’s ever found: the dog-headed god Annubis carved meticulously into the top by careful hands centuries ago, the body of the jar mostly empty now though it had once housed organs from one of Sennefer’s embalmed servants, or perhaps even Sennefer’s himself. “Can you - will you tell us about how you found it?” Liam asks, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, please,” Zayn agrees, still attached to Niall and smiling at Liam encouragingly. Louis wants to roll his eyes when he catches them, but he refrains. 

“Of course,” he says. “I’m going to go lock this up, and then I’ll meet you in the food tent for lunch. I’ll tell you the story then, cool?” He darts out to pinch Liam’s nipple as he turns to go; he likes the way it makes Liam flush red - at least it’s something, some proof that he’s in there. Zayn’s already become accustomed to Louis’ surprise attacks, seems to have a terrifying natural penchant for getting out of the way of any inconvenience remarkably quickly. Niall, on the other hand, has started getting to Louis first, pinching his side before he can even attempt to flip the snapback off of her head (“Professional, aren’t you,” she said, the first time he’d succeeded. He just stuck his tongue out in return. Professional is Louis’ middle name). Liam, on the other hand, just turns red.

“See you at lunch,” he says, turning to go and feeling strangely vindicated.

“Sick,” Niall says, seriously and emphatically, and when they laugh, no one giggles harder than she does.

-

The week passes in a haze of heat, Louis watching proudly as his three underlings adjust to the rhythm and flow of the temple and the work and start to get more brave with the tasks they’re assigned. They meet the other dig workers slowly but steadily, Louis learning more about each of the three of them as he watches the new connections being forged between them and his coworkers. 

Ben meets them when he takes them on their first full tour of the belowground part of the temple, Harry behind them filming their awed faces and flirting shamelessly with Ben the whole time; Caroline sits with them at lunch one day and asks them so many inquisitive, interesting questions that even Liam starts to loosen up. Harry’s goofy smile stays plastered on his face as he flirts shamelessly with Caroline, too, through the entire meal, and Louis thinks sometimes that if Harry weren’t his best friend, he’d probably find him insufferable. To think Harry makes fun of him about Greg when Harry could probably fall in love with a statue if the light hits it the right way.

It appears, over the course of the first few days, that Liam will talk to just about anyone _but_ Louis; in the moments where there could be conversation between them, Liam usually seems to think better of it, stays quiet or turns to chat with Zayn. Louis, to be fair, isn’t exactly going out of his way to welcome the interaction, either; he feels bizarrely like he’s in a competition with himself, like he’s got a grudge to maintain out of loyalty to his own instincts. It’s a grand old time inside of Louis’ head, most days.

Louis has learned, mostly through other people’s conversations, that Liam does go to University of San Diego, that he has two big sisters and a dog named Loki, that he’s a championship track runner. He’s learned a lot about Liam, it seems, for never having had a real conversation with him. 

“He’d talk to you, if you started it,” Harry says, more than once. “He’s just shy.” 

“He’s not shy with _you_ ,” Louis says petulantly. It’s not a good argument, really; Harry’d once carried on a conversation with a particularly charming goat at the country fair the summer before Louis’d left for college. No creature is shy with Harry.

The weekend comes before Louis even has time to register the passing of days, so caught up in learning and experimenting and discovering with his new buddies. On Friday morning, when Greg asks if Louis still wants to go into Luxor, he’s startled to realize how much he’s lost track of time and how _fun_ the week has been. Greg looks at him expectantly, after he asks. As if Louis’ ever turned such an offer down, honestly.

The bar is sweaty and wild by the time midnight pulls around, throbbing with the bassline and damp, heated in a way that’s very different from mornings under the fierce Egyptian sun. They’ve already been there for quite some time, everyone a pleasant sort of drunk. Louis feels, for the most part, like they’re crossing over the lines between just getting to know each other and being solid _friends_ , which he loves.

Niall’s already knocked back several shots, putting everyone except Greg to shame with her ease and proficiency as she puts them away. “You’re not fair,” Louis hears Zayn say, rolling his head towards her against the back wall of the booth as she downs a fifth shot of whiskey without flinching, Harry chanting her name next to her like a one man cheer squad. 

“Pi Phi,” Niall says with a grin as easy and untroubled as her drinking, and then she tucks two fingers under Zayn’s chin and tugs his face towards hers until she can kiss him on the nose. “Gotta make my sisters proud.” 

Zayn’s smile could probably power the entire city as he holds his hand out lazily for his own shot and absently touches a finger to the place Niall had kissed. “Bet the frat boys love you,” he says, and then holds his shot glass up to clink with Louis’ own as they down them simultaneously, matching scrunched up faces in the aftermath to boot.

Liam is nursing nothing but a Coke, his smile present but small where he sitting at the edge of the booth. He’s been opening up more and more over the week, although it seems like he’s warming to just about everyone but Louis, which isn’t _fair_. Not that he’s letting it get to him. Louis has no time or interest in dealing with him tonight, but he can’t help sneak little looks in his direction as Liam chats with Greg and manages to indulgently feed Harry fries from their order at the same time. Apparently multitasking is another thing he’s good at.

Louis’ used to being the one who defines his relationships with other people, and he doesn’t like how wild it makes him feel that Liam won’t do that. Liam didn’t give him chance in either direction, right from the get-go.

The music changes, after a bit and after a few more drinks, and when Greg gets up to go dance, his limbs wildly uncoordinated, Louis can’t help but follow him. He’s wavering right on the fuzzy line between tipsy and properly drunk, and he thinks he’s being surreptitious; when he feels eyes on him he looks up defiantly, ready to give Harry a full blown stink eye, as per usual when he’s poking fun at Louis with regard to Greg. He’s not prepared, though, for Liam: Liam’s warm eyes flitting between him and Greg, understanding and soft and far too sober for Louis’ liking.

 _Fuck you_ , he thinks. _You don’t know a thing._

Just to prove to Liam exactly how wrong he is, Louis comes back to sit down, not sparing Greg and his ridiculous dancing another glance, as though he can somehow erase the impulse to follow him by reversing it now. He slides back into the booth, thinks for a very pleased moment that he’s managed the whole affair in an impressively steady manor. Niall shoots him a thumbs up, Zayn’s head slumped on her shoulder, his unreasonably long eyelashes fluttering a bit.

“Zayn,” she says, leaning her head down to look at him. Louis watches in fascination as his eyes blink open, wide, and focus on Niall’s face. He thinks absently that Zayn looks like he was dreamed up by a woodland fairy. (He’s definitely drunk.) “C’mon Zayn,” Niall says again, nudging her shoulder a bit and jostling his head along with it. “Don’t tell me you’re out already, or I’m going to have to dance by myself.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, sounding not at all remorseful. “I don’t dance.”

“Suit yourself,” Niall says easily and grabs a beer off of the table that may or may not be hers, although no one’s keeping track anymore. She slides out of the booth, past Louis, and makes her way on steady feet (though with a horribly endearing swing of her hips that Louis is amused to see Zayn follow through narrowed, appreciating eyes) towards the floor as the music turns low and pulsing, an electronic heartbeat that spikes through Louis’ blood.

“Hey,” Louis says, after turning back towards the table and noticing all over again that Liam is still sitting quietly, taking everything in. He’s unreasonably proud of how steady his voice is after however many shots and several Stellas. “ _Hey_ ,” he repeats, and this time Liam hears him, realizes Louis is talking to him and looks at him expectantly. His stillness is a counterpoint to everything happening around Louis, and it’s disrupting him, bringing him back to the way Liam had watched him follow after Greg. “Don’t look at me like that,” Louis says, surprising himself with vehemence behind the sentiment.

“Like - like what?” Liam asks, and damn him, he looks genuinely confused. He’s not even _drunk_ , he should know what Louis’ talking about; he seems so good all the damn time - good at putting all the tools away more neatly than Louis does, good at letting everyone else serve themselves before he does, good at helping Niall remember to put on sunscreen and aloe vera on a tediously regular schedule, good at being _friends_ with _all of Louis’ friends except for him_ \- surely he’s good enough to figure out what Louis’ referring to. 

“Like you _pity_ me,” Louis says. 

(It’s possible - unlikely, but possible - that Louis is no longer being entirely fair with regard to Liam, but he’s officially crossed the border into drunk land and he’s been looking for a reason to snap at Liam all week.)

He means, then, to leave it at that and turn around to go dance with Greg for real, but instead he pulls Liam’s coke out of his hands and down it in several thirsty gulps. 

“Drink this instead,” he says, low, and shoves the sweating glass bottle of his nearly untouched beer into Liam’s empty hand.

“I don’t drink,” Liam says, quietly, like he’s afraid of provoking some kind of angry response out of Louis again. It’s probably not a misplaced worry, actually, because an entire litany of acidic responses slides through Louis’ head, though he manages to bite most of them back.

“Of course you don’t,” is what he settles on, laughing bitterly. “You don’t drink and you don’t mess up and you don’t like me, it’s all very clear.” If he were more sober, he would probably be embarrassed by how wounded he sounds, but instead he ducks his head, messes with the soft, sweaty hair that’s falling into his eyes, and stands clumsily from the booth. 

This is why he shouldn’t get drunk around people he’s supposed to be in charge of, especially when those people already make him irrationally angry. Lord knows he’s going to hate himself tomorrow when he inevitably has to apologize.

He risks a glance back at Liam, sitting alone in the big booth, his shoulders hunched. He watches as Liam holds up the beer like he’s going to take a swig; he pauses, lowers his hand again.

Fuck it, Louis’ going to dance with Greg.

-

The night only gets sweatier and blurrier from there, although Liam remains sitting at the booth in the corner of Louis’ vision. He’s like the eye inside of a churning storm of dancing and drinking and sloppy renditions of Christina Aguilera at the karaoke stand, and Louis can’t stop the way his eyes keep wandering over towards Liam’s small bubble of calm.

Even Zayn rouses himself, seems to reboot his energy when he spots Niall, ponytail whirling, dancing in the middle of a crew of local boys. She’s holding her own, far too fierce and certain of herself to appear threatened by any of their daring advances and wandering hands, but Zayn doesn’t seem willing to leave it up to chance anyway. “I’m gonna go save her,” he pronounces, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Niall doesn’t need saving,” Liam says with a laugh as they all watch her spin her way out of someone’s reaching grip without so much as a frown.

“I know,” Zayn sighs, sounding more enamored than anything, even a bit awed. He punches Liam softly on the shoulder as he leaves the booth, and Liam raises the beer he’s still holding from when Louis shoved it onto him, though it’s untouched.

It just makes Louis angrier, seeing the beer there in Liam’s hand, watching him run a finger through the condensation gathered on the side. He’s so damn _good_ , and Louis wants to punch it out of him, punch the goodness right out of his obnoxiously handsome face.

Harry comes over at some point, slings himself bodily across Louis’ back. His shirt is unbuttoned a ridiculous amount, almost down to his bellybutton, and he’s breathing heavily from his latest stint on the karaoke machine. He’s got his hair pushed back by one of Caroline’s headbands, and Caroline herself attached to one of his hands, looking a bit dazed as to how she’d gotten there. Louis doesn’t blame her, smiling back at her knowingly as she offers Louis a bit of an uncertain grin of her own.

“Look at the _lovebirds_ ,” Harry says with undisguised glee, missing Louis’ ear by a long shot and instead yelling the words into the flushed skin of his neck. 

He focuses his gaze and follows Harry’s pointing hand, the one not holding onto Caroline, to where Niall and Zayn are dancing together, Niall laughing wildly as Zayn rolls his hips in a circle, tongue stuck between his teeth and hands curled into fists in front of him.

“So much for not being able to dance,” Louis comments, though most of his words get lost somewhere against Harry’s temple.

Niall has her head thrown back as she watches Zayn, mouth wide open with her laugh, which looks like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside of her. When she looks up, she catches sight of Louis and Harry, points at Zayn and moves her hips in an imitation of what he’s doing as she mouths something completely indistinguishable in their direction. The glee on her face, though, is impossible not to understand.

“Don’t meddle,” Louis warns. Harry looks at him wide-eyed and shakes his head as if he has _no_ idea what Louis could be insinuating, but his face slides into a sneaky little grin after just a moment, one that Louis knows all too well. Louis shakes his head, blows Harry a kiss before Harry turns and tugs Caroline off into some dark corner to do something that Louis wants no knowledge of, especially when he sees Ben intercept them on their way. 

He turns to look for Greg and realizes with a start that Greg is dancing with _Liam_ , that he’s gotten Liam up onto his feet and swinging his narrow hips around in a way that is entirely too cute and too funny to jive with the already-solidified, not very positive impression that Louis has of him.

He pushes his way through the sweaty crowd, mostly full of workers from other digs and locals they’ve all seen before. It’s a nice atmosphere, safe and fun, but right now Louis is suddenly tired to his bones, wants nothing more than to curl up in the backseat of the van and then subsequently in his bunk. 

“Hey,” he shouts, coming to stand a bit awkwardly next to Liam and Greg until Liam spots him and abruptly stops moving, his face gone wary like Louis might snap at him again.

“Louis!” Greg cries, delighted. He, on the other hand, doesn’t look wary at all, and instead leans down and without warning places a sweet, slightly wet kiss full-on on Louis’ unsuspecting mouth. 

Louis staggers backwards a step, more out of sheer surprise than anything, feeling a hand steady him on the small of his back and sure, even without looking, that it belongs to Liam.

Greg’s face has gone goofy, a laugh bubbling out of him and his face looking painfully, endearingly surprised at his own actions. “Whoops,” he laughs, “sorry Lou, you just looked like you needed a kiss. Hazards of drinking with co-workers!” He’s glowing a bit, around the edges, eternally laughing and seeming entirely unconcerned about anything.

“Okay,” Louis says, because he can’t really think of anything else. He’s sure he knew more words than _okay_ at some point, but the rest of them seem to have vacated the premises. Liam’s hand is warm on his back, too warm, and Greg just kissed him, and he absolutely doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Get a few beers in me and I’m the _picture_ of professionalism, aren’t I?” Greg says, turning to Liam. “Setting a great example for you, I’m sure. Good thing there’s no Rate My Professor website out here for dig directors. ‘Great guy, really good with tools but has the unfortunate habit of getting drunk and kissing people who look a bit sad.’”

“Sounds like a guy I’d want to know,” Liam says. He’s laughing along, indulging Greg, but his hand hasn’t moved from Louis’ back. Louis _hates_ it, hates the feel of it. He doesn’t need Liam to take care of him, and if he weren’t paralyzed in place he’d have shaken it off already.

Louis’ mouth is searing, the echo of the kiss imprinted on it permanently. However ridiculous his crush felt before, in the last few moments it’s settled on his shoulders like he’s Atlas and Greg is the entire fucking earth. He doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that he wants it to happen again a million times over, a million times more than he did before, now that he’s had a hint of what Greg tastes like, or the fact that it appears to have meant exactly nothing to Greg beyond a drunken show of affection. 

His head is reeling, but he manages to find a smile somewhere deep in him, and says “I would too, Greg-o,” before his bearings come back to him and he makes his way blindly back towards their booth. It’s empty, now, although littered with half-drunk beers and shot glasses sticky with traces of alcohol, and he’s looking forward to sitting alone for a moment until Liam swims into his vision.

“Louis,” Liam says, hesitant.

“I didn’t want your pity before, and I sure as fuck don’t want it now,” Louis manages, though the malice is nearly gone from his voice. This time, Liam doesn’t move, doesn’t react except to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. It’s just as warm as the one on his back had been.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me, Louis,” Liam says quietly, and leads him back to the booth.

-

Louis’ hangover wakes him long before his alarm does, his need for water and tea and probably something full of carbohydrates dragging him out of his bunk at an ungodly early time, after just a few hours of sleep.

He stares at himself in the bathroom sink for a several long minutes, taking in his rumpled hair and the bruised looking bags under his eyes, his now week-old scruff looking a bit worse for wear. He is not looking forward to seeing Greg, to pretending Greg didn’t kiss him last night, or at least that it didn’t mean anything to him. He’s also not looking forward to seeing Liam and pretending that Louis hasn’t been a complete dickhead to him, because he has. It’s any wonder Liam hasn’t complained about it yet.

He knows he’s not going to fall back asleep, and figures Geb will probably be up getting the kitchen started, so he pulls on his shoes and trudges toward the food tent, keeping his eyes nearly closed against the assault of the early sun. His eyelids are drooping so heavily that he almost walks into someone who’s sitting on the ground, and his brain goes through several confusing reasons why this could be happening (dead body? someone didn’t make it back to their trailer last night? Sennefer himself risen up from the depths?) before his eyes open and focus enough for him to realize it’s _Liam_.

“Oh,” Louis says. That’s about all he can think of.

“Hi, Louis.”

Liam sounds tired, although not tired in the sense that they’d been out late and it’s obscenely early. He sounds tired like he’s already preemptively dreading whatever Louis is going to say to him, and if anything it makes Louis’ headache increase.

“What are you doing awake?” Louis asks, after a quiet moment. “It’s really goddamn early.” Something else occurs to him, too: “Why are you sitting on the _ground_?”

“I’m - I went for a run,” Liam says, hesitating as though he’s ready to be chastised for having an exercise regimen. It’s a good instinct, too, because Louis is absolutely going to chastise him for having one. Louis doesn’t need a chiseled, overly polite reminder of the exercise he _doesn’t_ get for himself, thanks.

“You went for a _run_?” he says, the incredulousness so strong in his voice that it makes his head throb harder. He realizes, then, that Liam’s wearing shorts and running shoes. If Louis hadn’t been trying to keep his roiling headache at bay, he probably would’ve figured out what Liam was doing awake all by himself, using _context clues_ , or whatever Greg always calls them. Honestly, context clues can suck his - incredibly hungover - dick. “You went for a run _before_ six thirty in the morning?”

Liam at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah,” he says, chewing a bit at his lip. “Yeah, I’ve gone every morning. I - it’s habit?” he offers, alongside a hesitant smile.

“Every morning,” Louis parrots back, astonished. He’s no longer annoyed about Liam and his goodness; he’s been hit all at once with the realization that Liam just cannot be _real_. He’s been sent a robot to work under him, that much is clear. A robot who goes for runs at six in the morning. He’s really at a loss on how to handle this one. “Do you want some tea,” is what he says, next, surprising himself and Liam equally by the invitation.

“What?” Liam asks, looking a bit startled. He recovers quickly, and his cheeks color as he says, “yeah, I’d love some, actually,” and starts walking alongside Louis towards the food tent, his arms hanging a bit awkwardly at his sides.

Louis knows he has to say something, but it takes all of his humility and willpower to force the words out of his dry throat, looking pointedly at the ground as he speaks. “Liam,” he starts, “I think I - I mean, I know I said some rude things last night, and it was out of line. I’m sorry if I made you feel...I’m just, I’m sorry, yeah,” he finishes, a bit lamely. At least he did it. Harry would be so proud.

“It’s alright,” Liam says, and his voice is warm as he reaches around Louis to open the tent, the smell of tea and breakfast already greeting them. “I know I haven’t been the easiest to get along with so far, either, and that’s on me.”

“Doesn’t excuse me being a dick,” Louis says, hastily, and _god_ , he’s back at square one, sniping at Liam over who can give a better _apology_ for chrissakes. He meets Liam’s eyes for the first time as it looks like Liam’s going to retaliate, and then they’re both just grinning a little sheepishly at each other.

“Yeah, alright,” Liam says. “You were being a dick.” He looks a little gleeful with the admission, and Louis makes an indignant, wounded noise. “What?” Liam says, “you admitted it! You admitted you were being a jerk!”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean you have to _enjoy_ it so much!” Louis ducks his head and rubs at his temples, mostly just in an attempt to hide his smile from Liam. He has a feeling Liam’s seen it already, anyway, darts his hand out for Liam’s nipple. Liam sees it coming, he’s sure, but he lets Louis do it anyway, still turns his usual shade of blush.

“Hello, boys,” Geb says as they draw near, effectively putting an end to the bickering for them. “I assume you’d both like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Liam says.

Louis inhales deeply as Geb hands him a mug. “You’re my favorite,” he says, and Geb shakes his head, ruffles Louis’ unruly hair.

“I know I am,” he says, “especially because I found you this.” He reaches up onto the shelf behind him and produces a box of Raisin Bran, seemingly out of thin air. Louis almost cries at the sight.

“You _didn’t!_ ” he cries, setting down his tea and taking the cereal up in reverent hands. “Liam, look what Geb got me!” he says, tracing a careful finger over the smiling sun on the package as though he’s reuniting with a lost lover. He turns to show it off, not caring that Liam has perfectly good eyes to see for himself what it is, or that he’s acting like a child with a new toy. “Geb, you’re a _god_ , I could kiss you - ”

“That’s quite alright,” Geb says, laughing and swatting Louis with his towel. “I figured you’d appreciate it today after such a night last night, eh? There’s even milk for you in the big fridge,” he says. “And make sure you share it!”

“That’s okay,” Liam starts to say, but Louis will have none of that politeness, not right now.

“You,” he says, pointing towards Liam with the box, “are going to eat some of this Raisin Bran with me. Non-optional cereal ingestion time, Louis-style.”

Liam holds up his hands in surrender, looking altogether too pleased and shy about the whole situation. “If you insist,” he says, and goes to get them bowls from the back shelves.

“I do,” Louis says, though it’s mostly an afterthought for himself. “I do insist.” (He almost takes it back when Liam asks if he can have some of the milk in his tea. Louis doesn’t usually indulge in dining with heathens, but he can make an exception this once).

-

By the time the others trickle in, looking for the most part as bedraggled as Louis felt upon waking up, he and Liam have split and devoured the entire box of cereal between them. There’s an entire multiple-part opera of emotions that plays out on Harry’s face when he sees the box, and then again when he realizes it’s empty, and the unspeakable tragedy written through his whole body leaves both Liam and Louis laughing so hard that Louis has to put his head down on the table to keep his headache from coming back.

Niall, too, looks affronted by missing out on the cereal, but she’s easily assuaged by the rest of Geb’s cooking and smiles meaningfully at Louis, her eyes bright as she looks inquiringly between him and Liam. Louis wants to hit himself over the head, realizing how much his pettiness has probably been affecting everyone. 

When Greg walks in, though, his eyes already laughing and his voice loud and jovial, Louis remembers the kiss and all at once feels the full force of his hangover and sadness flush through him. His infatuation with Greg hadn’t even been that serious until he’d learned, all at once, that it was entirely implausible, no matter how many times Greg told him he looked nice in his going-out jeans or complimented him on work at the dig.

He wants to go curl up somewhere, maybe have Harry come and rub his back and talk him through it, until he remembers that the only person who even knows what happened is _Liam_. He can feel Liam’s gaze, too, the hot burn of his stare on Louis’ face as he steels himself to greet Greg with a smile.

He’s fine, thank you, or at least he will be, and Liam’s overbearing concern can fuck right off. Apologies aside, he still isn’t going to be pitied.

“Morning, everyone,” Greg says, sliding into his seat across from Louis. “Hope we’re all feeling great, thinking fondly of the memories we made last night, feeling like we can look everyone in the eye and say, ‘hey, I was spectacularly trashed last night and so were you. Let’s do some _archaeology_.” Everyone’s mood is already lifting as they laugh along with Greg and begin recounting some of the brighter moments from last night. The coffee and tea and food slowly re-inflate them all like lopsided beach balls coming back to life, new easiness settling between all of them. It’s one that comes only with getting drunk and making ridiculous choices with each other and then facing them the next day in the unforgiving Luxor sunlight. 

“Remember when Zayn lied to me about not being able to dance?” Niall pipes up, grinning brightly as Zayn goes red beside her. “Yeah, me too,” she says. “What a glorious discovery that was. The _hips_ on that boy.”

Zayn looks simultaneously like he might either climb inside the pita on his plate to hide or get up and dance for Niall again, just to make her sparkle at him like that.

Harry, on the other hand, appears positively _thrilled_ with the whole interaction. “I should bring my camera along the next time we go out,” he says, brightly, only to deflate visibly as every single person at the table chimes in with a vehement version of _no_. “Why not, I think it’d be _good_ ,” he whines, looking imploringly at Greg next to him. “Wouldn’t it be great footage?”

“Ah, don’t turn those dimples on me,” Greg says, putting his fingers together to form a cross and pushing it at Harry’s face. “And yeah, it’d be great footage - to bury underground and never, ever let see the light of day.” He laughs and tugs a curl of Harry’s hair when Harry keeps pouting. “I mean it, Harry, that would be a terrible idea. None of us need our dumb decisions on tape. I don’t think _you_ want footage of yourself last night.” 

_Actually, he’d probably love it,_ Louis thinks. He can see that Harry’s about to protest the same thing when Greg says, “Hell, I kissed Louis last night, and that’s something that never needs to be seen on film.” 

Most of the table laughs delightedly at this revelation, holding hands out for high fives from the both of them. Louis tries to make the muscles in his face work in some kind of way that resembles a smile as he obliges, studiously avoids both Harry and Liam’s eyes. He’s Louis Tomlinson, god dammit, he doesn’t need to be treated like glass just because he’s got a dumb crush on his boss and now his feelings are hurt. It’s exactly what should’ve been expected; he’s really, entirely fine, thank you, and he doesn’t need either of them to worry about him.

“I dunno, Greg,” he says, breathing out hard and finding the reservoir inside of him that doesn’t feel, just jokes. “That sounds pretty steamy, honestly. You and I could probably make a real profit from that, start a whole new genre of archaeology porn.”

“Oh, that’s _kinky_ ,” Niall jumps in, looking altogether too excited by the concept. “You could rub each other all over with the little brushes meant for clearing dirt.”

“Let’s get everyone involved and call it an archaeolorgy,” Zayn pipes up, and the laugh that’s surprised out of Louis this time is entirely genuine. He really, really is okay. Niall, on the other hand, laughs so hard that Louis worries she’s going to choke on something, and even Liam is grinning down into his cereal remnants next to Louis. He’s got dimples too, Louis notices. An entirely unimportant observation.

“Good one, Malik,” Niall croaks.

“Clearly you’ve been pursuing the wrong type of filmmaking, Harry,” Greg says. “Man, if only Sennefer could hear us now.”

-

Louis does expect things to improve; he and Liam seem to have called some kind of truce after their shared box of cereal, and although he’s been faced with the dead end of his crush on Greg, he’s pushing through to the other side unscarred.Which is hard, considering that Greg’s still cute, and funny, and cute. Whatever. It’s a work in progress.

Louis is a _professional_ , thank you, which means that instead of doing his best to ignore Liam, he’s now taking advantage of every possible moment he can find to tease him. That’s what Louis does with his friends, and so if Louis is going to like him, Liam’s going to get the royal Tomlinson treatment. The boy could do with a little loosening up, if the permanent crease between his eyebrows and overbearing politeness and morning runs and lack of alcohol ingestion are any indication.

Louis is doing Liam a _favor_ with this teasing, even if Harry’s skeptical eyes say differently. Liam doesn’t seem to recognize how selfless and helpful Louis’ being, either, looking either concerned or baffled when Louis ribs him. 

Harry’s taken to dragging Liam away when the slope of his shoulders gets too tense, when it looks like he’s going to snap and say something in retaliation to one of Louis’ easily thrown jibes. Harry takes Liam to do various moments of filming around the site, or to mess around with gear, or just to goof off, returning him to Louis with a reproving look. Louis isn’t too pressed; if Liam can’t take the heat, he can get out of the frying pan, or whatever the saying is. 

“I know he confuses you,” Harry says from his bunk one night, “but you can’t take that out on him.” Louis regrets the day he thought that bringing along someone who knew him as well as Harry does would be a good idea.

It becomes clear, once Louis stops focusing on making Liam blush and pays more attention to his other charges, that Zayn and Niall both love being underground in the tomb, dark and damp and smelling of something ancient and heady. Louis starts taking them down every afternoon, around midday, usually after lunch, where they escape the brutal heat of the sun in a whole other century of space.

-

“Louis,” Niall hisses through the gloom. “Louis, come look at this.” 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon at the end of Zayn, Niall and Liam’s third week at the tomb, exactly halfway through their six week program. Louis can’t believe how quickly time has gone, that weeks ago he didn’t know these kids. They’ve learned so much already, it seems: how to use all of the tools, how to sift through thousand year old silt and read what the soil has to tell them, how to track their progress in systematic and correct methods. Niall, too, has discovered personally what a sunburn from the Egyptian sun can mean.

It’s a day roiling with the kind of heat that makes Luxor look like a melting oil painting on the horizon. They’ve escaped into the cool of the antechamber, along with Ben and Caroline. Harry’s come along, too, fiddling with his hand camera and generally being a nuisance. He’s taking close ups of Ben, who’s carefully brushing away layers of dirt from one corner, where a preliminary scan with the radar pulled up what looks like some kind of small vessel buried in the wall. Greg had thought this room might contain something they’ve overlooked, as this particular part of the temple has seemed to be fairly barren in all their past exploration, but they haven’t given it a thorough once-over. It looks like his hunch was correct. It’s the first section of the underground chambers, and the easiest to reach; tomb robbers had probably taken anything of obvious value long before Louis was even born.

Harry keeps leaning in absurdly close to the work, making Ben lose concentration. He’s turning to whisper things in Harry’s ear that make Harry dimple in a way Louis knows all too well. He sure hopes whatever Ben’s saying isn’t getting caught on film.

He steps carefully over the brushes that have been laid out in the center of their workspace, making his way towards where Zayn, Niall, and Liam are crouched in the opposite corner. Liam has something in one outstretched hand, something that glints in the center of his broad palm.

“Whatcha got there?” Louis asks, feeling the familiar hum of discovery pulsing in his chest, a thrumming in his blood.

“Liam found them,” Niall says, giving him an encouraging grin.

“They’re _sick_ ,” Zayn says, entirely sincerely, and Louis wonders for a brief moment exactly how much Niall’s been rubbing off on him.

“You found these?” Louis says to Liam, crouching down to get a better look. Behind him, Harry shrieks out a laugh at something Ben’s done. 

“I - yeah,” Liam says, stammering a little and holding his hand out towards Louis for him to examine. “It was - I was using the tiny brush on the corner, and they were buried not even a centimeter down.”

They’re beautiful: two meticulously carved scarabs, the markings of the beetle etched into their backs, one larger than the other, though not by much. They both look smooth, worn with age but still beautiful. One of them is made from what looks to Louis to be Egyptian faience, a common but still exquisite material. Even in the weird light cast by their lanterns, the greeny blue sheen of it glimmers in Liam’s palm, almost shouts of a different time and world and meaning. 

The other one, though, the little one. Louis’ fairly certain it’s made of gold.

Louis doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Liam’s other hand is reaching over, uncurling Louis’ where he’s unconsciously balled it up. “Here,” Liam says, and places the gold scarab in his palm.

It’s small, about the size of a nickel, but it feels weighty in Louis’ hand, impressed with meaning. It’s one of the more beautiful artifacts he’s touched, the detail along the wings fine and clear, even after hundreds of years. He turns it over, sees the familiar hieroglyph for Sennefer and two others, which, unless he’s mistaken, stand for _justified_.

“These are heart scarabs,” Louis says, his voice hushed. “They weren’t always used for the dead, but this one has the right sort of markings on it, and I’ll bet that one does, too.”

“Is it real gold?” Zayn asks, sounding as breathless as Louis feels.

“Think so,” he says. “Greg can have it analyzed, but it’s definitely possible.” He turns to Liam, still holding the faience scarab and looking like he can’t quite believe any of this is real. “This is an incredible find, Liam.”

Caroline has come up behind him, looks impressed and excited, too. “Hey,” she says, knocking her knuckles against Liam’s shoulder. “That’s pretty fuckin’ cool, Payne.” Liam flushes, his eyes crinkling.

Ben and Harry have found their way over, too, and Louis lets Harry film the scarabs and Liam talking about where exactly he’d found them. The tinge of pink in his cheeks doesn’t leave the whole time.

They’re not, in Louis’ opinion, the coolest thing that they’ve found in the temple - he’s biased, whatever - but they are unique. The gold, in particular - that’s a pretty unusual thing, and valuable, too. They are beautiful, and they were found in a curious place, not surrounded by anything else, and in a portion of the tomb they’d thought to be nearly empty. Louis is impressed, is the thing.

Greg is impressed too, when he sees them. Louis lets Liam hold onto both scarabs, all the way up to the artifact trailer, lets Greg teach him how to log them into evidence and then locks them away in one of the safes, clapping Liam on the back. “I think you literally struck gold here, Liam,” Greg says, and the two of them beam at each other until Louis feels nauseous from all of the undiluted earnestness in the room.

“Louis,” Greg says, easily, after Liam has climbed back out into the lowering sun. Louis’ set to follow him, his heart tripping slightly at the sound of his name.

“What’s up, Greg?” he feels tired, all of a sudden, feels like he’s been going full sprint for the last few weeks, is ready to crash.

“You’re doing a really great job with them,” Greg says. “I had a nice conversation with Zayn yesterday, told me you’ve been awesome to work with.”

Louis can’t help his grin.

“This discovery from Liam says good things, too. I’m pleased. Niall also seems to be thriving. Says she wants to rethink her major, wants to do a thesis on the female culture of ancient Egypt. I told her she should work with Nick.”

Louis’ grin turns into a scowl easily enough. Nick is Greg’s colleague, a lanky, awful man who’s in charge of a nearby excavation on a temple dedicated to Tawaret, the hippopotamus goddess of childbirth. He’s got ridiculous hair and wears ripped knee jeans even in the middle of the Egyptian desert and makes Louis want to pull his own teeth out, not most because they made out once with some heavy groping in the back of the karaoke bar bathrooms and Nick reminds Louis of it every time they see each other.

Greg laughs. “I see you’re as fond of Nick as usual,” he says. 

“Well, if he’s as charming as usual, then I’m sure I am,” Louis says, delighting a little in the laughing way that Greg’s looking at him. “See you at dinner?” he asks, turning to go. He can’t take too many compliments on a good day, especially not from Greg.

“Sure,” Greg says, easy and pleased as ever. “Louis,” he adds, stopping him one more time at the door. “I’m sorry about that kiss, I hope it didn’t seem too unprofessional.” He’s scratching at the back of his neck, looking a little chagrinned. 

Louis tries to smile, but he can see in Greg’s face that it doesn’t quite work. He enjoys Greg’s friendship too much to keep this up, owes it to the both of them to fold this whole pesky crush up neatly and shelve it for good. “S’alright,” he says. “I was pretty drunk, and, believe it or not, thought for a minute there you might have meant something by it.”

“Oh, Louis,” Greg says, somehow hearing just how much Louis isn’t joking. “I’m flattered. You don’t - you don’t really want me, I promise. I’m old, I’m just a musty old professor and you’re far too young and cute to be hanging around with me. It’d be like - like dating Sennefer,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest mummy style and wiggling his hips. 

Louis’ laughing, surprised at how much his chest doesn’t ache. He’s realized, maybe, that he and Greg weren’t ever going to be possible, that his admiration for Greg’s mind and generosity have grown out of proportion. “God, alright,” he says, waving a hand at where Greg’s attempting some kind of mummy waltz, his tongue stuck out and hips still swaying. “I get it, I’m not even cute enough to date the living, I’ll go find a dead priest to try my hand with.” Both of their laughter is genuine as Louis turns to leave, and he feels light with it, almost giddy.

Greg stops him with his name one more time as he’s about to leave. Louis turns, expecting more dancing, but Greg just says, “I’m glad you’re going easier on Liam. He’s not having the best time of it this summer, and he thinks you’re really great.”

Louis feels his neck heat up. He hasn’t - he doesn’t know what Greg’s seen, but he hasn’t exactly been going easy on Liam.

“Yeah,” he says, his throat dry, the laughter leaving him in a rush. “See you at dinner, Greg.”

-

It’s Wednesday night, and Louis can’t sleep. Wednesdays are usually the day he Skypes home, talks to his mom and his sisters, tries to send some kind of love and warmth through the computer to make his mom’s smile seem real. It feels, sometimes, like she’s been sad for as long as he can think, with only little flashes of joy along the way: while she’d been dating Richard, when they’d adopted a puppy, after his second grade parent teacher conference. He hates that he can’t be home to count those rare moments now, to make some of his own for her. 

Louis misses his mom, how lovely and bright she was once. He knows how much she misses his dad, but - he has to miss both of them.

The internet has been down on site all day, though, and Louis had to miss his call. He’d been in a grumpy mood all evening because of it, and then Liam had spilled his tea across Louis’ last clean pair of pants and he’d flipped out, cursing and making a general scene while Liam looked stricken and tried to help Louis with an ineffective stack of napkins.

He’s been hiding in his bunk ever since, embarrassed and tired and sad. He thinks about his mom, at home with four girls and one paycheck, trying to keep everything together while he’s halfway across the world, nearly crying over spilled tea. He pretends to be asleep when Harry comes in, keeps his eyes closed when Harry kisses his forehead and as he shuffles into bed. He only hits his knees twice climbing into his bunk, from the sounds of it, which Louis silently counts as a record.

The moon is large and quiet when Louis slips out of the trailer around two in the morning, his joints achey and his throat sore. He means to sneak into the food tent to make himself some tea, but the silvery light reflecting into the courtyard of the temple distracts him. He wanders towards it, pulling his sweatshirt down over his fists in the cold of the night air. He steps between the columns and nearly startles out of his skin when he sees someone already there.

It’s Liam. Of course.

“What the hell are you doing,” Louis says, his heartbeat hammering a military march from the surprise against the confines of his chest. He’s aiming for cold, but his voice sounds uncertain, a little wobbly.

Liam spins at the noise, the planes of his face broad and fine all at once in the silvery moonlight. “I - I couldn’t sleep,” he says, lowly. “I felt bad, about earlier - ”

“You couldn’t sleep because you spilled _tea_ on me?” Louis spits, incredulous. “You need to chill out,” he says. It’s cold, and he knows he’s being an asshole, but the concern on Liam’s face is making him feel squirmy and hot when he remembers the fit he’d pitched.

“You seemed - really upset,” Liam says, stammering the way he only seems to around Louis.

“It was fucking _tea_ , Liam. I’m not upset, alright? You can go back to sleep.”

Liam doesn’t move. Louis didn’t really expect him to.

“Is everything okay?” Liam asks instead, which is precisely the opposite of what Louis’ expecting. He almost laughs, standing in the middle of an ancient Egyptian tomb, exchanging casual conversation tidbits with a boy who’s been driving him up the wall for weeks.

“Not particularly,” Louis says, though he can’t muster up the urge for any malice. “You should go to sleep, Liam. You’re not supposed to be out here alone, and unless I’m mistaken, you have to be up for your _run_ in about three hours.”

Liam shifts his weight, reaching up to scratch awkwardly at the nape of his neck. “I - ” he starts, looking uncertain. “I don’t - well, I told Niall and Zayn they could have our trailer tonight - ”

Louis can’t help the noise he makes when he registers Liam’s words, taking an involuntary step closer and feeling his face break into a genuine grin for the first time in hours. “You’re fucking with me,” he says, even though he knows Liam would never. “You’re fucking with me, Harry’s gonna cry, he’ll be so happy.” He can’t help it, reaches out and pushes Liam’s shoulder happily. Liam takes a small step back, laughing. “It’s probably unprofessional to be excited about my underlings hooking up, but damn, I totally am.”

Liam looks pleased and apprehensive all at once, like he wants to join in Louis’ revelry but is worried the broodiness might return at any moment at his expense.

“Relax,” Louis says, “I’m not going to bite, I’m too excited.”

“I think they’ve got the biting thing covered pretty well between them, actually,” Liam says, so quietly Louis almost misses it, but when he looks up Liam’s grinning at him, finally looking relaxed and as happy as Louis’ seen him.

“Liam Payne,” Louis says, “who knew you had it in you?”

“There’s a lot in me you probably don’t know, Louis,” Liam says, and Louis feels himself flush guiltily. Liam doesn’t look angry, though, just a little amused.

Louis remembers his first night on site, when Greg had woken him up and taken him out here to this very spot to show him something. He wants to share it with Liam, feels like he owes him some kind of olive branch. Moonlight makes Louis all goofy. “Liam,” he says, “come look at this.”

Louis leads him over to an untouched plot of soil, mid courtyard, and promptly sits down. Liam looks unsure, but Louis reaches out and tugs on his hand. “C’mon,” he says, “Stop _thinking_ for a minute and just let me show you something.” 

There’s a change in Liam’s face, something decisive, and he gets down on the dirt next to Louis. He goes pliant as he sits, letting Louis draw him down onto his back as he arranges himself next to him on the dusty ground. “Look,” Louis says, and Liam follows his pointing finger up through the opening above them, leading to the inky swath of the sky.

“Oh,” Liam breathes. “Shit.”

The stars are bright, the dark around them undiluted along the banks of the river. It’s startling, every time Louis sees it: the clarity of the stars, the quiet focus of their light. “You know that the Ancient Egyptians mapped most of these constellations?” Louis asks, his voice quiet in the heavy, chilly air of the night.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes. Louis’ surprised, turns his head and grins a little when Liam meets his eyes, before turning back towards the sky.

“Greg took me out here my first night,” Louis says. “I still get fucked up thinking about the fact that these are the same stars that Sennefer looked at.”

“That’s - wow.” Liam sounds as awed as Louis feels. “Didn’t they call Orion the soul of Osiris?”

“They did,” Louis agrees, impressed despite himself. “I love the story of Osiris.”

“Me too,” Liam says. “My mom used to tell me that story before bed, I’d beg her for it.”

“Maybe it sounds dumb, but I’ve always thought Isis is the best part,” Louis breathes out. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so eager to tell Liam all of these things. “She was the bravest, I think.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that. I like it, though.” There’s a heavy quiet, and then something hitches in Liam’s voice. “Moms are - moms are pretty brave, aren’t they.”

Louis thinks of his mom, halfway around the world with his sisters and a husband long gone, lost to the world just as Osiris had been. She’s the bravest person he knows, that’s unequivocal, but he’s not even brave enough to be her Horus. He doesn’t know how to fight for her. 

He sits up, suddenly, wiping a hand under his eye to catch the wetness there. He isn’t going to cry in front of Liam, not here, not like this.

“Did I say something wrong?” Liam says, sounding worried. His eyebrows are drawn together like they had been after spilling his tea, and Louis wonders how many times he’s been responsible for that look.

“No,” he says, “I just don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Liam sits up, then, meeting Louis’ eyes intently. He doesn’t look worried anymore, he looks fierce, and determined, something sparking in his eyes that Louis’ never seen before. “You don’t know why I’m here, do you.” Liam isn’t angry, but there’s a new weight to his words.

Louis tears his eyes away. He feels guilty, about that, about how well he knows Zayn and Niall now, and how little he’s tried to do the same with Liam. “No,” he says, slowly. “No, I don’t.”

“It - I’m here for my mom,” Liam says, which is precisely not what Louis’ expecting. “She loves Egypt, used to read me mythology books before bed. She had the dream of me becoming a historian and bringing her back something from the Valley of Kings.”

“You told me she used to write your name like that on the napkins in your lunch,” Louis says, remembering, suddenly, reaching out to turn Liam’s wrist so he can see the hieroglyphics he’d scoffed at the first day. His chest feels tight.

“She did,” Liam says. “She did, but I’m - I’m not the smartest in a lot of ways, and turns out the thing I’m actually good at is math. I was never - I wasn’t ever going to be her historian.”

Louis, for once, stays quiet. He doesn’t know where this is going, but the anxiety in his chest stays, tight and hot.

“She’s really sick,” Liam says, after what feels like an age. “She has ovarian cancer, it’s - it’s pretty advanced.”

“Liam, God - ” Louis starts, but Liam shakes his head.

“It’s - yeah, thanks.” He looks down, runs a thumb over his tattoo. “I was going to drop out when I found out, come home and take care of her. She wouldn’t let me, though, and when I told her I would at least be home in Illinois with her this summer, she - ” his voice catches, and he smiles sadly. Louis clenches his fingers to keep from reaching out, touching his thumb to the corner of Liam’s sad mouth. “She didn’t want me to see her sick,” Liam says, looking back up and meeting Louis’ eyes. “We have a family friend, Nick, who knows Greg, and she told me that the best thing I could do for her would be applying to come here. Nick wrote my recommendation and Greg knows, it’s why he’s been so kind to me.”

Louis, for a moment, feels entirely without words. It’s a new phenomenon. He thinks about how many assumptions he’s made, about his annoyance that Liam didn’t seem one hundred percent thrilled to be here; he thinks about how he’d feel if _his_ mom was sick at home and didn’t want him around to witness it. He feels ill.

“I know I’m not, like, the smartest, and that I don’t understand how everything works,” Liam says, softly, interrupting Louis’ guilty thoughts, “but I promise I do like being here, I like it so much. I was really down the first few days, being away from her, but I’ve learned a lot - I mean, you’ve taught me a lot,” he says, and the guilt in Louis’ gut twists hot.

“I’ve been awful,” Louis says, unable to stop himself. He feels inexplicably like crying. “Liam, I’m so sorry, I painted you so wrong from the beginning. God, I feel so shitty.”

“It’s okay, Louis,” Liam says, reaching out and putting his broad, warm hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to try and make you feel guilty, I promise. I just wanted you to understand where I’ve been coming from and why I was - why I didn’t seem very happy, for a while.”

Louis looks at Liam, for a long, drawn out moment. There’s nothing dishonest or angry in his eyes, and it makes Louis feel even worse. God, he’s a dick. He feels Liam’s hand drop away as he lays back in the dust, puts his hand over his eyes.

“Louis,” Liam says.

Louis doesn’t move his hand. “What?”

“Are you - are you and Greg a thing?”

Louis does move his hand at that, startles himself with a laugh at how unexpected the question is. “Liam Subtle Payne, huh?” he says, and Liam smiles, rolls his head back to look at the sky again. “No,” Louis says. “No, definitely not. I thought I had a big terrible crush on him for a long time, but he’s my boss and he’s not - he doesn’t want me. I’m not particularly wantable, actually.”

“That’s not true,” Liam says, and something dark sparks through Louis’ belly. “You’re - ” he cuts himself off, suddenly, looks a little embarrassed.

“Don’t you dare,” Louis says. “Don’t you dare be this nice when I’ve spent four weeks making you feel awful.”

Liam looks like he’s going to object, but then he settles on, “only three and a half weeks,” and yawns enormously. It’s sort of cute, actually, but it reminds Louis that it’s some awful time in the morning and they’re going to be up with the sun in just a few hours.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says, looking up one last time at the stars before clamoring to his feet and dusting himself off. “There’s a little cot in our trailer, if you don’t want to risk interrupting the lovebirds.”

“You sure?” Liam says, but he seems all too happy to follow Louis back and curl up on the tiny cot, one of Louis’ pillows tucked between his arm and his head. 

Louis lays awake for a long time, counting the stars that are still imprinted in his vision. He thinks about Horus and Isis. He thinks about Liam and his mom, too.

-

Harry cries a few actual tears from excitement when Liam tells him about Zayn and Niall in the morning, though Louis knows he’ll deny it later.

“I should get _ordained_ ,” Harry says, first, and Liam laughs outright. 

“What the hell are you talking about, H,” Louis says, but Harry only seems incredulous that Louis doesn’t understand.

“For when they get married,” he explains patiently, exasperated that Louis hasn’t leapt to conclusions of matrimony yet. “Obviously I’ll need to do the ceremony.” He adjusts the plaid sleeve he’s currently wearing as a headband and leaves the trailer in a tizzy, muttering something about priesthood and _if Sennefer could help_.

“Guess someone should go tell Niall and Zayn they’re getting married,” Louis says, and bumps Liam’s shoulder in a happy nudge on the way out the door. He doesn’t acknowledge the pleased feeling that burns through him when he turns around and Liam’s grinning to himself, hugely.

Niall and Zayn, to their credit, don’t seem to be making a big deal of things, although Louis catches the mark riding just at the edge of Zayn’s collar and gives Zayn a thumbs up. He beams back in response, before turning to watch fondly as Niall starts systematically stealing things from everyone else’s plates.

“Here, babe,” she says, turning to hand Zayn a plump looking orange section that she’s just carefully foisted from Greg’s plate. “Your favorite.”

Harry makes a happy, overwhelmed noise and puts his head in his hands.

-

Exactly a week after their night with the constellations, Greg gets the results bar from the lab in Luxor confirming that the heart scarab Liam had unearthed was indeed real gold. Liam smiles so hard under everyone’s praise that he has to sit down, and Greg announces a karaoke bar night to celebrate.

It feels vastly different from the Friday they spent out together just a few weeks ago, and Louis revels in all the ways things have changed, become more fluid. Literally, in some cases: Liam’s actually agreed to have a beer, which Louis crows about triumphantly until Harry shuts him up with a handful of fries. 

He sort of likes the way Liam’s cheeks go faintly pink from his teasing, now, although he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

Zayn and Niall seem to have lost all shyness about what they may or may not be doing, dancing hot and wild at the center of the crowd. Louis passes them in the hallway on his way to the bathroom, Niall’s head thrown back against the wall as Zayn runs his tongue up the skin under her jaw. She catches Louis’ eye and winks, and then, when she thinks Louis isn’t looking, hauls Zayn up for a proper kiss. Louis wolf whistles, grinning as the two of them laugh against each others’ mouths. Young love, and all that. 

“Do you like it?” he asks when he’s returned from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans and gesturing towards where Liam’s almost finished his Stella, the green bottle sweating in his hand in the molten heat of the bar.

“It’s good,” Liam says, agreeably. “The last time I tried beer it was called Rolling Rock, or something like that. It tasted like something horrible. Warm horrible.” 

Louis pulls a face. “You poor boy,” he says, “no wonder you don’t like drinking.” He snatches the last of Harry’s tropical pink drink from where it’s been abandoned across the table and downs it, feeling the hum in his head buzz happily as the alcohol hits him. “Come dance,” he says, leaning in close to Liam’s ear over the noise of the crowd. Liam smells good, somehow, even in the sweaty heat of the day and the bar.

The dance floor is the perfect kind of packed, so full of people that there’s an easy sort of anonymity to be found among the writhing bodies, just enough room for Louis to throw his head back and get into the pulsing of the beat. Liam surprises him, goofy and serious in equal measure, his feet quick and his little hips finding rhythm that Louis wouldn’t have expected.

The shock of alcohol from Harry’s drink and the accumulation of the shots he’d gone head to head with Niall for are swimming lazily through Louis’ system; he’s the happiest kind of drunk, wiggly and loud and able to see the things that sobriety sometimes gets in the way of. How nice Liam’s body is, for example, probably from all of that goddamn running. 

“I can’t believe you’re a fucking track star,” Louis yells over the music.

Liam laughs, looking confused but pleased, though he doesn’t stop dancing. “What?”

To be fair, the music is loud, and Louis can hear his vowels starting to slide away from him, so he leans in close to Liam to be heard this time. Liam meets him with a hand steady in the center of his back, an impossible heat between them in such a tiny, inscrutable space. “I _said_ ,” Louis tries again, close enough to Liam’s neck that he can almost taste his particular mix of sweat and soap, “that you’re a fuckin’ track star and it’s not fair! Look at you!”

Liam pulls Louis back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning wildly, and Louis has to tuck his thumb into his fist to keep from touching it to the corner of Liam’s mouth. He’s wanted to do it since the night they talked, under Osiris’ watchful stars. 

“Louis,” Liam says, his voice shot through with a note of triumph, “was that a _compliment_?”

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” Louis says promptly, trying to wiggle his way out of Liam’s grip and away from what was, yes, absolutely commentary on how nice Liam’s body is.

Liam doesn’t let him get far. “Uh uh,” he says instead, “I don’t believe it for a second, I’m going to tell _everyone_ that you were nice to me, and you won’t be able to deny it,” he singsongs, his mouth right next to Louis’ ear. Louis tries not to think about the way Liam’s breath ghosting over his ear makes his stomach tighten, but it’s hard to ignore when Liam’s holding him so close, still swaying his hips in an unfairly hot approximation of a dance.

Louis can’t decide if he’s drunk enough to let his own hips cant up, to meet Liam’s body in all the ways his nerve endings are aching for him to do, or sober enough to remember who he is and why indulging his instincts is a terrible idea. A distant part of his brain is uselessly shouting things like “boss” and “professional,” though it feels sort of like tossing a pebble into the grand canyon. He’s not sure when or where the thoughts are supposed to land.

Liam doesn’t seem to have any of these qualms. He’s dancing with Louis like he’s a Liam who Louis’ never met before, grinding a little and laughing in Louis’ ear, one hand settling for good against the dip of Louis’ back. Louis can feel the waistband of Liam’s jeans pressed against his stomach.

“You’re flirting,” Louis says, indignant against the hollow of Liam’s throat. He feels Liam’s rumble of a laugh where their chests have slid together, and he’s officially drunk enough to make bad choices.

“Surprise,” Liam says, against his ear, and Louis leans forward on instinct, bites his collarbone.

When Harry appears, demanding Liam give Louis back as he’s been hogging him, Louis doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved. He can still taste the salt of Liam’s skin.

-

Not only can Liam flirt, apparently, but he’s also far more capable of standing up to Louis’ teasing than Louis had given him credit for. 

It’s clear, the next morning, when Louis is left only with the hum of a headache and vague images of Liam’s neck from a very close vantage, that something in Liam has changed. Liam seems to have realized that Louis’ standoffishness was more misplaced anger towards Liam’s quietness, and now that he’s no longer worried about Louis actually hating him, he’s actually quite the menace. Louis is equal parts proud and horrified, although horrified is currently winning out in the wake of last night’s tequila.

“I made tea,” Liam says, brightly, looking disgustingly chipper in his running shorts and USD tank top. Louis’ only barely managed to crash land in the food tent, sitting down heavily and putting his head on the table between his hands. He lifts it at Liam’s words, like a dog at the promise of a treat, but Liam grins at him blithely and doesn’t offer anything up. “Just one cup, sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting company.” 

Louis doesn’t have the energy to point out that Niall and Zayn probably count as company. On second thought, when he looks at them sharing a plate of fruit and switching sections of the newspaper in their own small world, they might not.

“Liam,” Louis says. He’s going for warning, but he just sounds pitiful. “Liam, if I don’t have caffeine in the next few minutes, you’ll have a dead assistant director on your hands.”

“That would hardly be the coolest dead thing we have around here,” Liam says, cheerfully. “Get back to me when you’re 3,000 year old Egyptian nobility.”

Louis tries to sit up in indignation, but his head protests. Liam has the audacity to laugh, but he does reach out a hand to scratch soothingly through Louis’ hair.

Louis would be embarrassed at the noise he makes, but it feels too good and he has too many other things to feel embarrassed about. Liam runs his warm fingers across the nape of Louis’ neck, and Louis dozes off like that, right there on the table. Harry, when he finds them, laughs so hard that he has to take a lap around the food tent until he’s settled down enough to eat.

-

Louis would be loathe to admit how much he enjoys Zayn, Liam and Niall’s last two weeks, both because he’s still supposed to have some sort of position of authority over them and because - well, because. Everything is _fun_ with them, now that he’s not being quite such a pretentious dickhead about the whole Liam situation. _Liam_ is fun, even, though Louis won’t say that out loud under any kind of duress.

Louis asks if he can spend their last week doing a special project, and Greg agrees, sets the four of them up in the storage trailer and spreads everything they’ve kept on site over a table in the middle.

It’s a treat for them and Louis both, getting to see it all at once, what looks like a wealth of ancient materials right there for them to see and touch. They spend a whole day just going through it all, their hands at the end of the afternoon coated in dust from the inside of their rubber gloves. It’s fun to talk about the pieces, to imagine what they all might’ve been used for. 

Greg’s asked them to catalogue everything, to take photos and write up physical descriptions for the end of summer report. It’ll have been six months at the end of this week since he and Louis arrived on site, six months since Louis started his dream job. They have a three month break off after this, and a final report has to be compiled before they go. That’s what the four of them are helping with.

Harry and his trusty camera are perched in a corner of the trailer and _documenting their documentation_ , as Harry calls it. “That is meta as hell,” Niall says, laughing at Harry’s excitement over the wordplay. “This is gonna be one philosophical film you make, Styles.”

Harry grins at her, squinting into the sunshine where they’re sat out having lunch. “I’ve told you, it’d be way hotter if you’d let me film you and Zayn, just once, just a little - ” he cuts off, laughing, as Zayn throws a grape from their picnic at his head.

“Alright, alright,” Harry placates. Then, because he’s Harry and can’t fucking resist, he says, “even just a kiss - ” 

Zayn doesn’t hesitate, just follows through with two more grapes that smack against Harry’s forehead. He grabs a few more as ammunition, holds them up threateningly, and then, purely because he can, he stares Harry down as he leans towards Niall. She grins, kisses him sweet and full on the mouth. 

“There,” she says, turning to Harry. “We kissed for you. Oh, you didn’t get it on film?” she asks, smiling beatifically as Harry sputters, indignant. “Shame you missed your chance, hotshot.”

“Hey, now,” Louis says mildly. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to allow this kind of fraternizing on my watch.” He doesn’t make any motions to do anything further, and Liam catches Louis’ eye and grins as Niall happily chomps on one of the grapes Zayn had taken to attack Harry with.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, easily.

“I’m not,” Niall says, laughs as Louis flips her off. “Not so professional yourself, _sir_ ,” she admonishes, pointing at his rude gesture and scrunching up her sunburnt nose sweetly, like she knows she’s won.

“How am I _ever_ gonna break into archaeology porn,” Harry sighs, still bemoaning his loss of footage. “It’s _hopeless_ , my dreams have been _destroyed_ \- unless,” he pauses, a foreboding glint in his eye, “unless, Liam - ”

“Absolutely not, sorry,” Liam says, sounding entirely unremorseful. 

“Doesn’t your camera have an automatic setting?” Louis asks, managing to keep his voice at least partially serious as everyone turns to him. “Just saying, but I mean, there’s Ben, and Caroline, and probably Nick, and - ” this time it’s Louis’ turn to duck as Harry lobs an entire orange at his head.

The report that they’re meant to help compile, once they stop throwing fruit at each other, will contain everything from the last six months: the pieces that have already left, in talks for display at various museums, and the pieces waiting for them to catalogue on the table inside the trailer. 

It’s a slow process, but not tedious, each of them getting lost in the pieces they’re recording. Zayn asks to do anything that’s been painted, including a small jar that has intricate detailing of grapes around it that match the cool interior of Sennefer’s tomb. Liam does the faience heart scarab he’d discovered, among other things; the gold one has already been catalogued and is set to go on display at the same museum in Luxor where Louis’ canopic jar has been taken. Sort of fitting, it seems.

The days pass weirdly inside the trailer, different from days working in the tomb as the sun slants through the windows. Harry takes the trio outside one at a time to do interviews about their whole process and experience, where they’ll go from here, and Louis notes with surprise how tangibly different the atmosphere feels each time a different one of them leaves. He’s really - well, he’s gotten obnixiously fond of them all, and he doesn’t know what it’ll be like when they’re gone.

“You’re going to miss us, aren’t you,” Niall says with a self satisfied smile after the fourth time she catches Louis sighing as he watches Harry interview Zayn through the window.

“Only because I’ll miss having you to boss around,” Louis shoots back.

Niall lets him have it. “Uh huh,” she says. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, softy.”

Liam is quiet, unusually so for how open and bright he’s been for the last two weeks. “You won’t miss me at all, will you Liam,” Louis says as the trailer door creaks open, Harry and Zayn tumbling back in with the afternoon sunshine, laughing. Liam doesn’t answer until they’ve settled, ducking his head and mumbling something towards the direction of his lap.

“What?” Niall says, “Speak up, Li. Louis doesn’t bite anymore, remember?”

“I said,” Liam repeats, looking up but at the table this time, “that I won’t have to miss you, maybe. Greg’s - Greg’s offered me a chance to come back.”

The trailer erupts in noise. It’s only Niall who manages to calm them down enough for Liam to explain.

“I didn’t wanna just _say_ it,” he says, looking pleased and embarrassed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t want you to think I was rubbing it in your faces, or anything.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Zayn says, in his most affectionate voice. “We’re so fucking excited for you.”

“It’ll be like a research study abroad type situation,” Liam explains, “just for my fall semester. I’m going to use it towards my new history minor.” He laughs when Harry startles him, launching onto him from behind, hugging him around the neck as Niall and Zayn get him on either side.

Liam’s eyes are gleaming when he looks at Louis. It’s a drastic difference from that first day, when he couldn’t quite seem to make his smile sincere, and Louis’ answering grin feels too big to be contained.

He’s happy. He’s so fucking happy that Liam will be coming back.

-

Louis doesn’t actually feel like he’s home until he’s pushed open the door to his and Harry’s Providence apartment, reaching for the light switch with the habit of muscle memory that feels like it belongs in another lifetime.

The apartment is quiet and empty, a deep sort of empty like it hasn’t been lived in for a while. Which, in fairness, it hasn’t. It still feels good to Louis, lets something release in him that wasn’t able to while he’d been at home in Michigan at his mom’s house.

It was nice, it was _really_ nice: going to the twins’ soccer games having his favorite meals made for him, seeing his mom smile for real and not sort of sadly through a Skype connection. It was nice, Louis knows, but it was exhausting. Going home means _seeing_ people, his mom’s friends and his own sort of half friends from high school in the grocery store, seeing his aunts and indulging Lottie’s sleepovers full of giggling 15 year olds. He loves it, he absolutely does, but he loves this, too. This little apartment is home, a place for him and a place where he might be able to just sit for a while.

It’s incredible how great that sounds, sitting. Just sitting. Sitting in a chair, sitting on the _couch_ maybe, just sitting with no one to talk to or to expect things of him for a few blissful hours. He can’t wait. He’s never been so excited to sit in his entire life.

He takes a shower, first, basking in the pressure from the showerhead and how _hot_ the water gets. His body wash is still sitting on the edge of the tub, and using it feels like some kind of inconceivable luxury. It smells like a long time ago, like winter - the last time he’d been here was in December. 

He makes a quick run for groceries after surveying the kitchen, his hair still damp as he flips open the cabinets to find four oatmeal packets and a can of tuna, the fridge housing nothing but a half empty bottle of honey mustard and four different types of Harry’s favorite hipster brewed IPAs. He goes to get milk and cereal - Raisin Bran, which makes him stand in the breakfast aisle thinking about Geb and Liam and smiling dopily - pretzels and orange juice and eggs and yogurt and wine and, after fifteen minutes of working only from a list, whatever he walks by that looks good. He hasn’t eaten like this in _months_ , and man is he excited to get some good preservatives and artificial flavor back in his bloodstream.

After he makes dinner, a glut of pancakes and scrambled eggs and sausages and potato chips and a bagel and two of Harry’s beers, he does what he’s been waiting to do since he came through the door, and sits.

Turns out, sitting gets old after a bit.

His computer boots up (ha! high speed internet, _at his fingertips!_ ) and after opening Netflix to see what he’d last left off watching - it’s Say Yes to the Dress, not that anyone will ever know that while he’s still alive - he sorts through his emails, deleting the junk and sending a quick message off to Harry that he’s home, the apartment is still standing and Louis’ll meet him at the airport in two days.

He has an email from Liam, too. It’s not the first, nor a surprise - Liam had emailed him after a week of being back in the states. The first message was so unbearably _Liam_ , and it made Louis put a fist in front of his mouth like that might stop him from grinning at it. It was full of gratitude - for what Louis’d taught him (Louis pushes down the guilt at how long he’d spent grudging him instead of teaching), and full, too, of how excited Liam is to go back. He had questions, too: how he could prepare better, what Louis would suggest he bring for a longer stay, if there’s any reading Liam should do in advance.

It’s lovely, actually, how seriously Liam seems to be taking it. They’ve chatted a bit about other things, too, like Zayn and Niall, (currently both at Niall’s home in Southern California, Zayn meeting the parents already), and how Harry’s doing. Louis updates Liam on when his scarab will probably be on official display - just in time for them to be back in Luxor, which calls for a field trip. 

Louis had asked about Liam’s mom in his last email, carefully. He scans Liam’s response, mostly full of eager plans to go see the scarab and Louis’ canopic jar. He doesn’t say anything about his mom, but has a whole litany of new and excited questions instead after reading an article Louis’d sent him about other unearthed heart scarabs.

Louis sends him an email back, closes the laptop, and spends the next six hours watching America’s Next Top Model reruns on TV. He goes to bed at four am incredibly happy.

-

It isn’t until a week after Harry’s been back, seven half drunk, wholly lazy days, that Louis realizes it’s been a long while since he’s heard from Liam. It pulls him up short when the thought catches him, makes him wonder if he’s said something to make Liam be standoffish again. He looks through his last email, which seems to be okay, and resends it, just in case it didn’t go through.

When he doesn’t hear from by Liam two days after that, he starts to panic. Just a bit. 

“He’s probably just having lots of family time,” Harry says, running a hand through Louis’ hair where they’re slumped on the couch watching _American Pie_ after a long day of doing precisely nothing. “You know how hectic it gets when you’re at home, I bet he just read your email and forgot to respond.”

“Maybe,” Louis says, but something feels wrong. “He just - he was emailing me almost daily, for a bit there, and now it’s been almost two weeks. Does that seem like Liam to you?”

Harry’s an optimist, but he doesn’t lie to Louis. “No,” he says. “It doesn’t. What do you want to do?”

There’s a feeling of dread, deep in Louis’ belly, something ominous and dark pooling there. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so upset, but it feels imperative that he get in contact with Liam, make sure everything’s okay.

“Do you have Liam’s number?” he asks, too worried to be embarrassed by how tight his voice sounds.

“I don’t,” Harry says, shaking his head and putting the television on mute. “But I’d bet Greg does.”

Greg, on the other end of the phone, is entirely too understanding. He doesn’t comment on the edge of panic Louis keeps trying to swallow that’s relentlessly creeping back into his voice.

“Good luck, Louis,” Greg says. “Give Liam my best.”

Louis has to walk through the entire apartment a few times until he’s settled down enough to dial Liam’s number. Harry sits on the couch through it all, the steady eye to Louis’ storm, talking him through it, telling him it’s going to be okay, whatever’s happening.

Louis hits call; the phone rings. Three times, and then Liam answers, his voice familiar and tired and lovely. “Hello?” he says. There’s a weariness there that Louis doesn’t recognize.

“Liam?” he says. There’s a beat and then - 

“Louis?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “Hi. Sorry if this is weird, I just - you hadn’t answered my emails in a while and I just wanted to make sure - Liam?” he cuts off, abruptly. Liam, on the other end of the phone, hundreds of miles away but sounding real and vulnerable and sad enough to touch, is crying.

There’s a strangled, impossible moment during which Louis forgets how to breathe before Liam speaks. “My mom,” he gets out, just barely. “Louis, my mom.” There’s heartbreak in his voice, exhaustion and the sort of heartbreak that’s potent enough to knock Louis backwards. He barely registers the cold of the refrigerator against his back as he slides against it towards the sticky kitchen floor, or the way Harry’s appeared from the living room, his face drawn.

“Liam,” Louis says. “Oh, Liam, my god, I’m so sorry.” 

Liam cries.

Louis feels immobilized, clutching the phone to his ear, listening as Liam falls apart and struggles to put himself back together enough to continue the conversation. He manages after several horribly long minutes, Louis unable to stop listening, Harry’s hands steadying on his knees. Louis’ never been witness to such an outpouring before; it’s both alienating and intensely intimate.

“We knew it was coming soon,” Liam manages, finally. “We - I’m just glad I was here for it. She was - it was time for her not to be in pain anymore.”

All Louis can manage is, “oh, Liam.” He sits on the phone, feeling a bit helpless, until his senses come back to him enough to ask, “is there anything I can do?”

Liam is quiet down the line for a few minutes, his breath still irregular but smoothing out in increments. “Actually, maybe,” Liam says. “I’m just - really tired. The funeral was a few days ago and it was - it was lovely, and also terrible, and I’m so tired, and I don’t think I can be here any more. Could I - would it be a horrible imposition for me to come stay with you? Just for a bit? I know it’s a lot to ask - ”

Harry is already nodding when Louis looks up, apparently able to hear what Liam’s said in the quiet of the kitchen. “Of course, Li,” Louis says, interrupting his worried monologue. “Are you - are you sure you want to leave your family?”

Liam breathes out in audible relief. “Yeah,” he says, and even through the wobble in his voice he does sound certain. “I love them, and I’m glad I’m with everyone now, but it’s been so overwhelming. As soon as the immediate things are taken care of, I think I need to get away. Does that make me terrible?”

“No. No, God, of course not. You’re welcome here whenever you want, Liam,” Louis says, and he means it so fiercely he can feel right through to his bones.

-

Liam arrives on Saturday, four days after Louis spoke to him on the phone and just over a month from their last day at the dig. They aren’t due back for another six weeks, which feels like lifetime, but Louis knows how quickly it will go. 

Harry and Louis go together to meet Liam at the train. “Hey, settle down,” Harry says, reaching across the console to put a steadying hand on Louis’ knee. “It’s going to cramp if you keep jiggling it like that.”

“Sorry. I don’t even know what I’m so nervous about.” Louis forces all of his breath out in a rush, leans his head back against the seat and ignores the glance Harry’s sending his way. He knows, alright? He knows.

Liam looks - well, he looks exhausted when he arrives, his face drawn and pale, suitcase dragging behind him as he scans the cars for familiar faces. His smile is genuine when he catches sight of them, though, genuine and bright and almost enough to mask the sadness that’s been caught in the fine lines by his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, and hugs both of them so hard it feels like he’s trying to hold himself together with the touch. He turns to wrangle his suitcase up into the trunk, but Louis holds out a hand.

“Let me help you with that,” Louis offers, and there’s a beat before Liam smiles, remembering.

“Thanks,” he says, his shoulders relaxing just an inch. “I’d love that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asks, first thing after they climb into the car and turn around for home. Louis’ riding in the back, has graciously saved Liam shotgun.

“Not right now,” Liam says. “I think I’d rather talk about anything else at the moment. Tell me something, Harry.”

Harry spends the rest of the drive home outlining his plans for his archaeology porn business, and Louis tries not to stare at Liam’s profile the whole way home.

The couch in the living room is a pullout bed, and Harry’d made it this morning, tucking in all the corners religiously and carefully fluffing the pillows like an aspiring housemaid. Liam grins when he sees it, sets his suitcase down carefully and then sits on the edge like he’s not quite sure how much space he’s allowed to take up here. His whole body seems heavy; Louis wonders if grief has weight.

They _don’t_ talk about it, either. They talk about Louis’ sisters, they talk about Zayn and Niall, who’ve sent a record number of goofy snapchats in the San Diego sunshine. It’s probably weird that Louis was, you know, their _boss_ just a few weeks ago, because now he just feels like their friend.

They talk about if they want kettle corn or popcorn to accompany their viewing of Finding Nemo, and about taking Liam to their favorite ice cream place in Providence, but they don’t talk about Liam’s mom. Liam falls asleep between them on the futon halfway through the movie, and they turn the TV off quietly, sneak out of the room. Harry kisses Louis on the forehead in the bathroom after they’ve left him and brushed their teeth.

Louis startles awake sometime around three am, the light from the hall spilling into his room around where Liam seems frozen in the doorway. “Hey,” Louis says, his voice gruff with sleep. “Liam, is everything okay?” _Stupid question,_ he thinks.

“I can’t sleep,” Liam says, his voice very small. “I woke up and you guys had gone and I can’t fall asleep again.” He leans his head against the doorway as he talks, turning so he’s almost speaking into the wood, embarrassed and unsure.

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in Louis when he rolls over and pulls the covers back on the other side of his bed. Liam takes a tentative step into the room, like it’s what he’d been hoping for, but stops himself. “Are you sure? I promise I don’t snore or kick,” he says, still sounding small and uncertain.

“C’mon, you goof,” Louis says. “Close the door behind you and come cuddle.” He’s spent more than enough nights with his little sisters snuggled up under his arm after a nightmare; he’s prepared for this.

Liam falls asleep quickly, after that, limp with exhaustion and curled towards Louis with his head resting heavily on his own outstretched arm. Louis stays awake for a long time. He's hoping he’ll see the sadness ease from Liam’s face, watch it slide away while he rests. He’s always heard that people look most peaceful in their sleep, innocent and at ease no matter what the real world holds, but Liam doesn’t. He looks more unhappy than Louis’ ever known him, even more so than those first few days on site.

Louis doesn’t remember falling back asleep.

-

Liam sleeps on the futon after that, tucking in with determined cheerfulness when they start getting ready for bed as though he’s got something to prove by sleeping on his own. Louis wants to offer - y’know, if Liam ever needs, his bed is open - but he doesn’t know how to do it without crossing whatever lines Liam seems to be setting up for himself.

There’s no talk about Liam’s mom until a week into Liam’s stay, when he asks them to get him drunk.

They do it off of Harry’s hipster beers (he’s bought more, and it’s amazing how much better they taste when they aren’t six months old) and a few shots of rum, Liam sputtering and drinking copious amounts of juice between each of them to wash out his mouth. Louis’d only bought apple juice in juice boxes out of a fit of nostalgia, and the sight of Liam scrunching up his face at the taste of the rum and then furiously sucking on the straw of his juice box is unbearably endearing. “Wish I could put this in the movie,” Harry says, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck from behind as they watch the spectacle, grinning and cheering Liam on.

Once Liam’s properly _drunk_ , laughing and languid, Harry suggests they Skype Niall and Zayn.

“Nayn?” Liam asks excitedly. He’s somehow gotten himself upside down on the sofa, his head nearly against the carpet, giggling as Louis feeds him Cheetos one by one. 

There’s a moment of confused silence before what Liam’s said sinks in, and for a while nobody is Skyping _anyone_ , the three of them instead entirely debilitated by laughter. Liam laughs so hard that little tears are escaping downwards into his hair, and Louis can’t help but kiss one of them away as he finally hauls his way up off of the floor and opens his computer.

When the call goes through, there’s a stretched out moment before the cameras flick on. They can’t see Zayn and Niall, but they can hear them, and Liam tries to sit up so quickly at the sound of their voices that he ends up rolling off of the couch sideways.

“Hi!” Niall says as the video loads. She’s sitting between Zayn’s legs on the chair, his chin hooked over her shoulder. “Where’s Liam?” she asks, just as he manages to lift himself off of the carpet where he’s fallen, the side of his face popping up at the bottom of the screen and his grin wide enough it could probably reach to Niall all the way across the country.

“Found him,” Zayn says, laughing and reaching a finger out towards where Liam’s face must be on his screen. “You actually got him drunk, didn’t you,” he muses, dropping his hand to Niall’s thigh and sounding impressed. “Wish I could be there to see it in person.”

Harry makes a mournful face at the computer. “We wish you were here, too. There’s no one here who’ll throw grapes at me like you do.”

“Is that something you’ve been missing, H? Because all you had to do was ask, I’ll throw anything at you - ” Louis cuts himself off with a laugh as Harry shoves him sideways.

Liam has dragged himself up to sitting, his back against the couch in between Harry and Louis’ legs; only the top half of his face is visible on the screen, but it’s clear just from his eyes that he can’t seem to stop grinning goofily.

“You look so nice,” he says in the general direction of the computer without making it clear who he’s addressing, leaning his head against Louis’ knee sadly. 

“You talking to us, Li?” Niall asks with a laugh, leaning close to the camera until all they can see is her face. She’s bright and familiar, one hand pushing her hair out of her face and her nose scrunching. “You look nice too, buddy. Miss you.” She kisses the screen before settling back against Zayn’s chest. They both look comfortable and content, and Louis catches Zayn’s eye and gives him an enormous smile. He loves when his friends are happy. He’s honestly sort of glad that he’s not their boss anymore, that he can have this kind of relationship with them. 

Harry tells Zayn and Niall about Liam getting their name wrong, Liam’s eyes closed and a dopey, drunk smile on his face as he listens. Niall has a hand over her mouth and Zayn’s laughing into her shoulder, both from Harry’s retelling and from the way Louis is systematically arranging the remaining Cheetos in Liam’s hair, licking the dust off of his fingers in between. He’s pretty drunk himself, it appears.

“We’re going out to get drinks with my brother,” Niall says after a bit, “I’m sorry, I think we have to go.” Liam makes a sad noise against Louis’ knee at her words.

“No problem,” Harry says, “we get it, you have more important things to do than to talk to a couple of nerds like us, it’s fine, it’s totally fine.” He’s aiming for betrayed, but his drunk dimple is out in full display and he blows them a sloppy blown kiss.

Zayn stops them, right before they hang up with a small _oh_. Louis pauses where he’s about to end the call, and Zayn says, “before we go - hey, Liam. We’re sending you so much love, yeah? I’m so sorry about your mom.” 

Niall’s face is serious, the most serious Louis thinks he’s ever seen her, and she nods. “We really do love you, Liam.”

On the floor, Liam’s tensed, but he turns his head back to the screen, inching up enough that they can see his whole face. “Thanks,” he says, “I love you, too.” Louis slides a hand into Liam’s hair as they say their goodbyes, knocking the Cheetos off, combing his fingers through and tugging just a bit on each pass. It occurs to him that Liam smells like Louis’ shampoo.

“I’m ready to crash,” Harry yawns when they hang up, stretching cutely. He picks up their forgotten carton of ice cream from the floor, the sides of it caving a little from how melty it’s all gone. “Li, d’you need help pulling the bed out?”

Liam doesn’t open his eyes to answer, just shakes his head. “Need to sit,” he says, “‘night Harry.”

Harry meets Louis’ eyes over the back of the couch, silently makes sure he’s okay and that he can handle Liam from here. Man, sometimes Louis realizes all at once how lucky he got with a best friend like Harry.

 _I’m good_ he sends back with his eyes. _Love you_. “Night,” Harry says, and trundles off sleepily in the direction of the bathroom, the melted ice cream still in his hand. Louis considers pointing it out but thinks better of it, figures Harry’s going to do exactly what Harry wants to do, just like always.

Liam manages to get himself up onto the couch, looking weary and sad again. Louis’ rib cage feels too small; he was hoping, foolishly, that Liam would stay distracted and at least sort of happy longer than he had. “I’m going to get us some water, champ.”

He drinks an entire glass in the kitchen, even uses the new filtered pitcher Harry had insisted on purchasing. It’s a science experiment for Harry, practically, filling it up and watching the water slide through the filter, seeing the little flecks that are left behind. (“Like a thank you from my immune system,” he’d said, entirely sincerely after the first use).

Louis refills the glass and takes it out to Liam, watches him pointedly until he drinks the whole thing before he takes it back, sets it on the floor and plops back down beside him. 

Neither of them talk for what feels like a millennia, until Liam says, “Louis,” very quietly. He’s sitting with his hands resting palm-upward on his thighs, and in the low light of the room he’s seeping vulnerability. Louis stares at the shadow in the hollow of his throat, tries to anchor himself to the sweet birthmark just next to it.

“Yeah, Liam?” he asks. 

“I don’t feel very good.”

“Do you mean your head? That’s the alcohol, probably, but the water should help.” Liam doesn’t say anything, and Louis tries again, his years of babysitting kicking in with his concern. “Is it your stomach? That could be alcohol, too, especially if you aren’t used to it. I could make us some toast…” he trails off as Liam rolls his head along the back of the overstuffed couch, eyes wide and wet. “Li,” he says, softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My whole body,” Liam says. “I just feel _bad_. I feel like all of me is an ache.” He sounds raw, bewildered and hurt and exhausted all at once, and Louis knows with sudden clarity that this isn’t a hurt he can fix with toast or tea or a back rub.

“Hey,” he says, softly, because it feels like he has to say something.

“I’m sorry I’m here,” Liam chokes, and it’s absolutely the last thing Louis expected to come next.

“What? Liam, what are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry I came here, I’m sorry I’m so sad and a mess and I’m sorry you have to deal with me and I’m sorry I’m only ever not what you want. I don’t want you to dislike me again.”

Louis is winded, entirely, trying to breathe and unravel everything spilling from Liam and move to console him all at once. “What are you talking about, crazy boy,” he says, trying to keep the hysteria tucked behind his sternum from creeping into his voice. “We’re so glad you’re here, Harry and I both wanted you to come, we wanted to have you here.”

“I’m no fun like this,” Liam says, “I’m a coward for leaving my family and I’m here making you take _care_ of me and that’s not your job - ”

“Liam, _listen_ to me.” Louis’ knees are tucked under him now, pressed against Liam's thigh, two pinpoints of pressure and connection that feel very, unavoidably real. He places one hand flat against Liam’s cheek, softly, until Liam turns his head under the pressure and meets Louis’ eyes. 

Louis tries to coil all of his love and admiration and bravery into the palm of his hand, cool against Liam’s flushed, damp cheek. “Listen. Liam, you’re _allowed_ to be a mess. You’re allowed to be sad, you’re allowed to be angry and _sad_ and messy and whatever the fuck else you feel like being right now. You know what’s brave? Brave is traveling halfway around the world because your mom needed you to. Brave is not punching me in the face all of those times I gave you shit without any idea of what was going on. Brave is taking care of yourself and leaving when being at home was too much.”

Liam is crying, silently, awfully. He’s listening, though, listening intently, and that’s all Louis needs to continue.

“Your family loves you,” he says, “they love you and they’ll have you again in the future and this isn’t the end. You’re going to Egypt again in a month, anyway, okay? They’re expecting that. You aren’t letting anyone down, least of all me. I love you, and Harry loves you, and I’m never going to _dislike_ you. I never did, you ridiculous boy, I was jealous of how good you were at so many things and I was nervous and petty and you are so much better than all of that.” 

He’s out of words, suddenly, everything sticking in his throat, the wetness of Liam’s tears on his hand now the focal point of his consciousness.

Louis isn’t sure how long they sit like that, still and quiet, the things he said settling around them, uncertain and warm. The lights from the cars driving past outside keep flicking across the wall in an unpredictable rhythm, illuminating the shine on Liam’s face each time. _Woosh. Woosh. Woosh._

Liam reaches up, finally, infinitely slowly, presses his own hand over where Louis’ is still against his face. “Thank you,” he says, his voice hoarse, thick with disuse and tears.

“Sure,” Louis says, easily, because he knows more words aren’t going to make Liam understand that Louis’d say it all again, let Liam stay with him for a year, get him drunk and hold his face for as long as it takes for Liam to be okay again. “Let’s go to sleep, yeah?” 

He doesn’t give Liam an option, and Liam doesn’t protest, just follows Louis into his room and slides under the covers. Louis refills the water glass, finds advil for the morning and strips down to his underwear and a t-shirt before climbing in on the other side. Liam’s face, when he rolls over to brave a look, is calm.

-

“Guys! I found one for mini golf!” Harry hollers excitedly from his bedroom, bustling into the kitchen with his laptop balanced precariously on one arm, displaying it excitedly for Louis and Liam. They’re at the table in the kitchen attempting to write out packing lists, although Liam’d first had to dig out a stack of cocktail napkins that Louis didn’t even know they owned to stick under the uneven leg.

“Mini golf, huh?” Louis says indulgently, clearly a space for Harry to put down his computer and perch on one side. He’s clearly expecting the table to wobble under his weight, because when it doesn’t he stands back up and sticks his head upside down to survey what’s changed. “Did you do this?” comes his voice, muffled from under the table. “That’s so smart, we should’ve done that a year ago,” he adds as he pops back up.

“That was all Liam,” Louis says, and Liam graciously accepts Harry’s proffered fist bump. 

“You’re a good one, Payne,” Harry says, before turning back to the computer. Liam smiles softly, but it’s genuine. Louis knows because he’s spent probably an embarrassing amount of time watching Liam over the last month, trying to gauge the nuances in his smiles, how truly alright he’s feeling at any given moment. He likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at it, and also that the tightness around Liam’s eyes has softened a bit. He’s still aching, there’s no doubt, but he’s undeniably excited about heading back to Luxor and he’s brightened, just a little.

That is in no small part thanks to Harry’s newly acquired obsession with Groupon, which is what has led him to interrupt their planning session so excitedly. Mini golf sounds great, actually, on the heels of what have been some of the most ridiculous and indulgent weeks of his entire existence, including his and Harry’s spring break trip to Florida.

“Look, they have 35 holes and an open bar,” Harry’s explaining excitedly, “and we can all go for half price if I get it.” So far, they’ve gotten gourmet milkshakes, eaten out for six different dinners, spent the day at a waterpark just outside of the city, and Harry’d even convinced Liam to get a pedicure with him. Louis’d bowed out of that one, and Harry had been nice enough not to tell Liam that it was because once in fourth grade, Louis’d peed himself laughing from having his feet tickled, and absolutely refuses to let anyone near them anymore.

“Are you in?” Harry asks, almost wriggling with excitement and looking between Louis and Liam with all the excitement of a poorly trained puppy

“You got me interested at ‘open bar,’ but you just want an excuse to wear those pants that make your butt look good, don’t you?” Louis asks, because Harry’s his best friend and he has to. “I don’t think people even wear real gear to mini golf.”

Harry pouts. “I’ll wear what I want, Louis, and yeah, my butt does look extra cute in those.”

“Actually,” Liam interrupts quietly, “I have a question.” He looks overwhelmed by their sudden attention when they turn to him, but it’s just that he’s been so far just along for the ride, getting pedicures with Harry and spending hours lost inside REI, trying to talk Louis down from buying everything he touches.

“Of course,” Louis says, “what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you guys got your tattoos done here.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding as surprised as Louis feels. “Both of us have gotten a few of ours done here in town.”

“So you have a guy you like?”

“He’s great,” Louis says. “You want another one?”

“I would,” Liam says. “Yeah, I really would.”

They call ahead for the afternoon, and the only time available is when Harry has a meeting with his advisor at RISD to check in with the status of the movie before they head back to Egypt, so he drops them off. Louis is trying not to study Liam’s face compulsively, as he has been for the last weeks, but he’s pleased that when he does glance over, Liam seems calm and certain. He catches Louis’ eye, grins.

“Anyone else would maybe be a little creeped out by now, you know,” he says, and it startles a guilty laugh out of Louis. Maybe he hasn’t been as subtle as he thought. “Don’t worry,” Liam says, “I think it’s sweet. You used to watch me at the tomb like you were waiting for me to mess up, and I much prefer this.”

Louis puts his head in his hands, can feel his cheeks burn. Liam still gets under his skin, but in a wholly new way, finding pieces of Louis that no one else quite seems to know what to do with and handling them easily.

“Hey,” Liam says, reaching over gently to pull Louis’ hands away from his face. “I mean it, I don’t mind. It’s nice.” There’s a little pause, a suspended moment between them. “I’m okay,” Liam breathes. It’s a soap-bubble fragile statement, but it’s real. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

Louis’ tattoo guy is named Rob, a wiry, inked up dude with an easy smile and plaid shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He takes Liam into the back while Louis goes to use the bathroom, and by the time he’s washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror, Liam’s face down on the chair, Rob pulling on gloves and settling up the table for work.

Liam doesn’t offer anything up, so Louis doesn’t ask, just holds Liam’s hand on the opposite side from where his shoulder is getting tattooed and tells nonsense stories about his sisters and the time Harry’d gotten drunk at Louis’ graduation and ended up kissing the Dean’s wife full on. 

Liam’s face is scrunched up in a horribly cute mixture of amusement and pain, and Louis doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to smooth his thumb along the furrows of Liam’s worried brow, against the corner of his mouth like Louis’ wanted to for what feels like ages. He leaves it there for an extra beat, just long enough that Liam turns his head and kisses it gently, barely a press of lips. It’s a thank you and an I’m sorry and a thank you all over again in the span of a breath.

Louis tries to keep his grin from escaping, but he knows it’s a lost cause.

When it’s done, Liam’s back is flecked with ink, and Rob sets everything down, swabs Liam’s skin gently before asking if Louis wants to look.

“Can I?” he asks, because Liam hasn’t said anything, yet, and he doesn’t want to presume.

“Yeah,” Liam says, “yeah, ‘course you can look.”

The walk around the table feels like it takes eons; Louis can see the tattoo, but it isn’t until he’s finally up close that he can make out detail. It’s beautiful, and it makes his heart hurt in a very real, very insistent way.

The tattoo is a near-perfect replica of the gold heart scarab that Liam had found in the tomb antechamber, its beetle markings calling to mind something ancient and elemental, standing out precisely even against Liam’s flushed skin.

Liam turns his head, tries to gauge Liam’s reaction. He’s not sure he has words to explain, the best he can come up with being, “Shit, Liam, it looks great.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Liam says, closing his eyes against the soreness as Rob starts the process of bandaging it up.

“You know the drill, yeah?” Rob says. He’s talking to both of them, but Liam’s eyes are still closed, so Louis nods. Rob runs them through it anyway. “Leave the bandages on for 24 hours, after that keep it uncovered and use something like A&D ointment to keep the skin from drying out. Quick showers, no swimming, just be smart, yeah? The initial healing should be about two weeks, but be careful in the sun, especially in Egypt. Keep it covered, wear sunscreen and all that.”

“I’ll make sure he does it,” Louis says, although there’s no chance Liam won’t be entirely fastidious and careful when it comes to his tattoo care. Louis is the last person who should be looking after someone else’s, considering his own impatience when he has a new tattoo.

Liam only has a t-shirt with him, but he doesn’t want to put it on yet, so Louis loans him his zip up hoodie until they get home. Liam looks unfairly good in it, his bare chest peaking out the top and narrow hips emphasized by the jacket. _Not_ that Louis is looking; he’s learned his lesson today about not watching Liam too closely. Although, actually, he is looking.

The tattoo place isn’t far from the apartment, and Harry’s still out somewhere, so they start walking, Liam describing what the tattoo had felt like. Louis’ never had one on his shoulder and is curious to hear, but it doesn’t stop him from poking fun at Liam’s, “I mean, it wasn’t bad, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Alright, Hulk, settle down,” he says, and Liam outright laughs. It’s nice.

They’re only a few blocks away from home when Louis works up the courage to ask. “The tattoo,” he starts, hesitant, but Liam looks at him encouragingly. “It’s for your mom, yeah?”

Liam smiles a little sadly. “It is. She was so proud, god, I’ve never seen her so excited as when I showed her the photos Harry took of the scarabs. She told me I’d be her historian after all.” He’s not speaking loudly, but the notes of pride and contentment and satisfaction in his voice are like buoys, pleasant indicators of the fact that Liam’s still here, still chugging, that he really will be okay.

“I miss her,” Liam says, a moment of unasked for honesty that Louis wants to hold carefully in the palms of his hands. “She’s with me, though.” There’s a conviction in Liam that makes Louis’ skin prickle, makes him square his shoulders to meet it head on. “And I’d bet you anything she’s partying with Sennefer somewhere, right now.”

-

The tattoo heals nicely, mostly thanks to the fact that Louis’ hunch was correct: Liam is immaculate and fastidious in taking care of it, especially given that he’s going to be on a plane for nearly a full day at the end of the next two weeks. It’s on his shoulder, though, so he keeps asking Louis and Harry to help him with the ointment. Harry loves it, makes a big deal about carefully rubbing in it and cooing noises about how _intimate_ and _sensual_ the whole thing is. Louis thinks it’s a hallmark of their relationship that Liam doesn’t blush at those sorts of comments anymore, just rolls his eyes.

Louis likes helping, too, so much that he’s afraid to talk while he does it. He likes the way Liam’s just a bit taller than him, how closely he can look at the tattoo. He likes the way the ink looks, dark and glistening with the ointment. He likes the spread of muscles under the skin of Liam’s back, likes the way Liam drops his head to his chest and lets Louis take as long as he likes, rubbing tiny, gentle circles over and around the tattoo.

Somehow, though, they make it through the next fourteen days, packing and unpacking suitcases, Harry insisting he can get away with only wearing underwear for the last three days because everything else he owns is in a suitcase. Liam disappears a few times to talk to his sisters and once his dad - Louis can’t believe Liam’s been with them for almost two months - and Louis’ unspeakably pleased that the sadness in the lines of his forehead and set of his mouth don’t stick around for quite as long as they had before.

They’re leaving for the airport at noon, suitcases in a sentry row by the door, the fridge almost empty and leaving a weird, echoey feeling in Louis’ stomach. He’s so excited to get back, but it feels like he’s barely touched down at home, barely had time to laze around and be a general terror.

“Do you wanna sleep in my room tonight?” Louis asks Liam over the picnic of Chinese food from Harry and Louis’ favorite place spread across the living room floor, the computer still open next to them from when they’d Skyped with Niall. 

Zayn hadn’t been there, sadly, had gone back home, but Niall had exciting news: she was coming in late fall to work with Nick at the Tawaret temple, to see if it’d be a good fit for a longer term. Zayn, too, was applying for a research grant to follow her and put together a capstone project on ancient painting techniques. He’s hoping it’ll help him get into a graduate program.

“It’s gonna be completely sick,” Niall explained, an encompassing and apt summary. She’d gotten a text from Zayn halfway through their conversation, and the look of unbearable happiness on her face had nearly sent Louis into premature heart failure. He feels so triumphant about how all of this has worked out, he really does.

There’s nothing like sharing something he loves with people who can appreciate it like he does. It’s the most fulfilling feeling that Louis could imagine.

“Sure,” Liam agrees, surprising him. “I’ll sleep in your room. Is there a reason why?”

“He wants to jump your bones,” Harry says, immediately and casually, and already has a hand up in defence when Louis lobs a fortune cookie at him.

“It’s so that we can put your sheets in with the last load of laundry,” he says. “Just thought it’d be easiest. And it’s your last chance to sleep in a real bed for a while.”

“Sounds good,” Liam says, and proceeds to dump an entire bite of Lo Mein into his lap when the chopsticks spontaneously betray him. Louis doesn’t even pretend to hide his laughter, and he lets Harry get the paper towels. He loves the boy a lot, but he isn’t above letting Harry do the dirty work for him every once in a while.

-

Louis wakes up groggily in the middle of the night, met by the startlingly familiar sight of Liam in the doorway. He’s not waiting there, this time, just coming back in from using the bathroom, and it feels like Louis’ entire heart is turning itself over as Liam crawls back into bed. He slides his toes over, without hesitation, until Louis can feel them pressed against his calf. 

“You’re awake, yeah?” Liam asks. He’s not whispering, but his words sound to Louis’ tired brain and racing heart like they’re existing quietly in the space just between his and Liam’s mouths.

He musters enough energy to make a solid attempt at grumpy and says, “I wasn’t two minutes ago,” because Louis Tomlinson does not go down without a fight.

Liam doesn’t answer for a bit, still and quiet on the other side of the bed. Louis thinks maybe that’s that, they’ll roll over and go back to sleep; he’s already closed his eyes when he feels a tentative hand, fingers stretching against his ribs. Louis shivers involuntarily at the contact and Liam says “I’m sorry,” the words coming out almost as a reflex.

“For what?”

“It’s dumb,” Liam breathes, hardly audible. Louis stays as still as he can, like he might startle Liam. His patience pays off, though, he can practically hear Liam working up the courage to speak again. “I’m just - sorry that I can’t stop wanting you.” Liam sounds raw as he moves to take his hand away; Louis stops him on impulse, circles his fingers around Liam’s wrist and holds it in place.

“Louis?”

Louis talks a lot, is the thing. He’s _good_ at talking, great at talking his way out of or into things, can be persuasive as all hell. He doesn’t have words to answer Liam with right now, though, just a jump and a spark in his chest that he hasn’t felt in ages, turning over and revving with a newfound intensity. 

He rolls until he’s facing Liam, still keeping Liam’s hand flush against his side; when Liam says his name again, Louis can’t think except to guide him, press Liam's fingers over where his heart is hammering out a furious drumbeat of need and want and _yes yes yes_. He hopes it’s answer enough.

“If you don’t say something soon, I’m going to kiss you,” Liam says, sounding both eminently terrified and entirely certain of what he’s saying. Before Liam can follow through on his words, though, Louis does it for him, clamoring on top of Liam and bending down to meet him without hesitation, propelled onward by the thrumming in his blood.

Liam’s mouth is open when Louis catches it, wet and inviting and _hot_ , and Louis can’t help the noise he makes as Liam runs his tongue along the ridge of Louis’ teeth, slides his broad hand down Louis’ back and over his ass and hauls Louis down tight against his body. It’s fierce, and unexpected enough that Louis’ next breath comes as a gasp.

“You have to be sure,” he manages, “I have to know you want this for the right reasons.”

Liam kisses him, hard. “I’m sure,” he says, and he sounds like it. “I want this, I want you, and - ” Louis can feel Liam’s grin against his cheek, “you’re not technically my boss anymore.”

Louis laughs, feels entirely caught off guard, squirming on top of Liam and holding his face in both hands, trying to gain some leverage again over his racing heart and the easy, overwhelming way Liam’s started kissing him again. Louis should’ve known Liam would be good at this, precise but messy, careful and surprising all at once. The hand on Louis’ ass is keeping him down unfairly easily, bleeding heat through the thin cotton of Louis’ underwear. The layers of fabric between them do embarrassingly little to hide the way his cock is fattening up with each drag against Liam, with each nip and with the groan Liam makes when Louis sucks on his plump bottom lip.

Louis takes Liam’s face and tilts it up, nosing his way up Liam’s throat, kissing him and biting along his jaw. He revels in the feel of Liam’s stubble against his lips, sensitive and swollen as he darts up to bite Liam’s earlobe. Liam makes a unbelievably filthy noise as Louis grinds down with intention for the first time, and Louis moves to swallow the noise, gets the slick press of Liam’s tongue in the deal, too. 

Liam’s hands are all over, gentle and awful in equal measure. “ _Christ_ ,” he says, “I want to touch you all over. Fuck, Louis,” he bites out as Louis ruts against his hip; Liam’s wandering fingers find their way to Louis’ ass again, drag lightly over the cotton against the groove between his cheeks. It makes Louis clench, his hips trying to press both back into the feeling and down against the solid friction of Liam’s body, his mounting desperation making him feel hazy and his movements uncoordinated with want.

“You can,” Louis says, too shot through with arousal to think of anything cleverer than the truth. “You can, fuck, _touch me_ , Li.”

Louis is _shivering_ with sensation, trembling as Liam drags his fingertips in circles, dips his palms up under where Louis’ shirt is getting increasingly wrecked to press against the flushed skin at the dip of his back. He’s embarrassed by how easy he is for this, for Liam. It feels like it's been waiting under his skin for a long time, this want.

“God,” Liam breathes, leaning in to mouth at the skin just behind Louis’ jaw. “God, fuck, I want this so much, Lou,” he says. Louis groans, his embarrassment dissipating in the honesty of Liam’s voice, the confirmation that Liam feels the same, and the words jerk Louis’ hips down against where Liam’s dick is fattening up, too. It’s both noticeable and unbearable, the feel of him hard against Louis’ own sensitive cock. Liam doesn’t miss the opportunity, spreads both of his hands over the place where Louis’ back curves into his ass, holds him there and pushes his hips up easily until the heads of their dicks are catching against one another through the fabric.

It’s unfathomably hot, how deftly Liam can contain him, Louis left with only a few centimeters of mobility to grind his dick into Liam’s body, soft and muscled in an entirely unfair contradiction. The cotton of his briefs is slick with precome, and he has to keep from growling, kissing Liam messily as he tries to hold himself together at the seams.

Liam’s fingers slip under the waistband of Louis’ underwear, pressing into the soft skin there, holding him close. In one moment he thrusts up against Louis and bites the bared side of his neck, not gentle like Louis would expect but possessive and sharp and needy. Louis’ orgasm hits him from a blind spot, his whole body tensing and trembling against Liam’s, whimpering open-mouthed against Liam’s shoulder.

Liam holds him as he comes down, strokes his back until Louis can open his eyes fully, can even begin to consider the unlikely idea of moving ever again. He doesn’t shift his face from the sweat-sheened stretch of Liam’s neck where he’s buried it, doesn’t want to face the reality of his surprise attack orgasm. “Jesus,” Louis manages, the tremble in his voice barely noticeable. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Liam.”

“God, I can’t believe I made you come,” is all Liam seems to be able to answer with. “Fuck, that’s so hot. _You’re_ so hot.”

“I suppose that’s quite the compliment, from a track star,” Louis says, grinning reluctantly. He kisses Liam’s neck, because he can and because it’s there, and moves to prop himself up as best he can. “Here I was ready to be all embarrassed because I came in my underwear like I’m fourteen again.” He smiles when Liam goes to protest, cuts him off by brushing their noses together. He feels silly, giddy with it. “Let me do the same for you,” he adds, more seriously, and Liam sucks in a breath.

“Make me come in my underwear?”

“Yeah, just making sure we have equivalent blackmail material,” Louis says, and then, “ _no_ , you ridiculous boy. Let me make you come. Gotta keep the power dynamic in my favor, here.”

Louis goes to lick his palm when Liam nods with a groan of Louis’ name, intending to get it slick, but Liam stops him. “You could - ” he starts, looking remarkably shy for the situation. He seems to think better of whatever he was going to ask, instead moving his hands down to the slick front of Louis’ briefs. Louis tries not to shy away, his dick still spent and sensitive. He wants to ask what Liam’s doing but resists, lets him go for it instead. He appreciates a man of action.

Louis groans, dropping his forehead against Liam’s collarbones where he’s still slumped on top of him when Liam gets his fingers slick with Louis’ come and then reaches inside his own boxers; his lip his bitten between his teeth. He won’t meet Louis’ eyes, but he looks determined. “ _Fuck_ , Liam, fuck you can’t just - ” he doesn’t actually know what Liam _can’t just_ , so he finishes with, “God, yes, you have the best ideas.” 

Liam laughs at the contradiction, and Louis kisses him sharply, nipping his lip in retaliation. It just makes Liam groan.

Despite his inclination, he’s not going to make Liam do all the work; he reaches down himself to his messy briefs, letting Liam kiss him filthily while he gets his fingers slick. Liam’s hand is moving with increased intensity in his sweats, and it makes Louis’ heartbeat speed up again, too, as he knocks it out of the way and replaces it with his own.

“ _Shit,_ ” Liam groans, which wraps everything up pretty succinctly.

It doesn’t take long; it also doesn’t make Louis feel any less embarrassed about coming in his briefs after just a bit of heavy petting. (In his defence: Liam). It is hot in an incredible, dirty way, though. Liam’s cock feels _good_ in his hand, warm and soft and slick, jumping when Liam’s breath hitches on particularly good twist of Louis’ hand.

“Louis,” Liam says after a minute, his voice scratched but intent, “Louis, _fuck_ ,” and he nearly comes off the bed with the force of his orgasm, his cock spurting hot into Louis’ hand, up his wrist, which is arousing in an inscrutable, all-consuming way.

“I think I’m broken,” Liam groans, slings his arms heavily around Louis’ neck and hauls him in for sweet, insistent kisses, his body still jerking through the aftermath of coming. “I think you broke me.”

“Is there such a thing as good broken?” Louis asks, laughing in between kisses. He’s trying to convince himself that any of this is even happening the same universe as he’s been living in for the past twenty four years.

“Well, I never want to be unbroken, so I think that’s a yes,” Liam says, and smiles so hard that their kiss is barely more than a happy press of mouths, the air between them hot and good and brimming with newness.

“Thank god I’m not your boss anymore,” Louis says, thumbs against Liam’s cheek. Happiness is fizzing in him, Liam’s hand solid and present on his back.

-

Harry takes a single, cursory look at them in the kitchen the next morning and says, “ _finally_ , I’m texting Zayn and Niall,” before proceeding to make them breakfast with a very satisfied and immutable smirk. Louis grins very hard into his tea as Liam nudges his toes under the table. Niall texts Harry back a string of dancing lady emojis and Zayn seven exclamation points. Harry shoves both messages under Liam and Louis’ noses triumphantly in turn, as though proving a long-standing point.

Getting through security seems miraculously simple, which could very possibly not be the case and instead just the remnants of the post-orgasm fog that Louis still feels like he’s bathing in. They strap in, Louis in the middle of their row of three, feeling very much content and comfortable. He’s got a boy on either side, he’s going back to Sennefer, and there’s vodka listed on the plane’s menu.

Liam barely makes it through the instructional video that Louis could probably recite from memory. The flight attendant is just demonstrating how seatbelts work when Liam puts his mouth warm against Louis’ ear and murmurs, “mile high club, yeah?”

“Dear God,” Harry says, “I’m requesting a seat change.”

Louis laughs, kisses Harry on the cheek because he’s a good best friend; he slides his fingers through Liam’s, sits back, and smiles so hard he has to close his eyes. This is a happiness he’s had before, he thinks, trying to place the contentment crackling through him. It feels, remarkably, like an eight year old birthday and a new book.


End file.
